A Bushel And A Peck
by Newbourne5
Summary: 16-year-old Dylan Murray and his 11-year-old brother Ben are the only surviving members of their family and they would die to protect each other. When they meet Merle Dixon, the boys are certain he is the enemy. Next, enter Rick & Co...T for language.
1. Chapter 1

_**Hi and thank you for reading. I hope you like my original characters, Dylan and Ben Murray. They aren't your average kids, but I guess there's no such thing as "average" in a world full of walkers, is there? They will first meet up with Merle, who has been out on his own for awhile (so we'll get to hear about some of his adventures—or misadventures depending on how you look at it!) Then the three will come across Rick and the crew. Anyway I hope you like this. Please read and review if the mood strikes. Again, thanks so much for reading.**_

A Bushel And A Peck

_**Waffle house just off of Georgia State route 74:**_

Dylan Murray used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe away the grit and aged grease on the mirror in front of him. He peered at himself in the dawn light, thankful for the windows in the restaurant's men's room. They offered meager illumination, but it was lighting nonetheless. He turned the spigot on the sink and said a silent prayer. He rejoiced as the cool water tricked on to his fingers. "Got running water, little man," he said, smiling and peeling off his shirt.

"Natural light AND running water?" asked Ben from the urinal. "Man we got lucky today."

"Sure did," said Dylan, nodding to the sink next to his. "Come on and wash up. Just 'cause it's the end of the world doesn't mean I need to endure your stinky ass."

Ben chuckled and rolled his eyes. As he turned he zipped up and approached the sink next to Dylan. "Listen, you're the teenager here. You smell way worse than me. Trust me on this, big brother," he said, patting Dylan on the shoulder.

"If we ever get a chance to meet some cute girls, you'll thank me for encouraging personal hygiene. Now get to washing," said Dylan, patting his hand on the soap dispenser.

Ben crinkled his nose at the bright pink liquid soap. Most of it had spilled on to the ceramic of the sink and dried there, leaving a hard, flaky residue. He pulled off his shirt and used his palm to extract some of the soap. "If I closed my eyes I'd swear we were at the Ritz Carlton."

"Hey I didn't hear you complaining when we found that peanut butter and those jelly packets in the pantry last night," said Dylan.

"No sir," said Ben. "Ever think we'd see the day when peanut butter and jelly would be the best meal we'd eat in weeks?"

Dylan chuckled despite the depressing truth of the situation. "Yeah. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Man."

"Correction," said Ben. "Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches—minus the sandwich part. The only bread I saw last night was covered in fungus."

"Speaking of fungal growth," said Dylan, nodding in Ben's direction. "Remember what Mom used to say. Get all the important parts."

"Yeah, yeah," said Ben, washing his face before lathering up his underarms. He was thoughtful for a moment. "So, I was thinking last night when we got here."

"Uh oh," said Dylan, grinning. "I thought I told you to quit doing that thinking thing."

"No really, listen, I was thinking that we've been to this place before. With Mom and Dad and them," said Ben.

Dylan looked into the air as if trying to capture a thought there. "I don't remember. When was it?"

"On our way back from Disney," said Ben. "Back in May. Don't you remember? You said the one thing you'd miss about the South was the waffle houses."

Dylan laughed. "Oh yeah, I do remember saying that. But dude, how many waffle houses are there in Georgia, you know? How can you be sure this was the one?"

"I was keeper of the map," said Ben. "I remember all the routes we took and I, oh, hang on," he said, reaching down into his black backpack. He extracted a dog-eared road atlas and turned to the appropriate page.

Dylan had to chuckle to himself. When he and his family decided to drive from New Hampshire to Florida to go to Disney, Ben had insisted that their father not use his GPS. 'Reading maps is a lost art.' Ben had complained. 'Besides, with GPS, we'll probably end up in Michigan anyway.' Dylan stowed away his fathers Garmin just in case, but he was quite impressed and surprised that his baby brother successfully navigated the near fourteen hundred mile trek to Orlando on his own. Dylan smiled, thinking of how his father, Liam, simply got behind the wheel of his Chevy Tahoe and told Ben to lead the way. It was Liam Murray's unerring trust and confidence in his four children that Dylan would miss the most.

"See?" Ben asked, pointing Dylan to the page displaying the Georgia state map. Ben had used a red pen to mark every place they stopped on the trip for posterity's sake. He used his index finger to direct Dylan to the very spot off of route 74. "See? I wrote, "Hands down best Belgian waffles so far. Real maple syrup, extra powdered sugar and real strawberries." He looked up proudly at his older brother, grey eyes gleaming.

Dylan smiled. "I'm sorry mister map keeper. I doubted you there for a second but you schooled me. Dad would've been proud."

Ben looked down. "Yeah," he said softly, before placing his atlas back in his backpack.

Dylan knew that talking about their family was uncomfortable for Ben, but he made a vow to talk about them at least once a day. He was determined to make their memory live on, no matter how Ben felt about it. Dylan felt that his baby brother would certainly appreciate it someday. After all, he felt that his family was something to be proud of.

They were a tight knit group, led by Liam Murray, a retired navy seal, and proud to be one hundred percent Irish. Their mother, Tara, an urban planner, was of Puerto Rican descent. Her heritage was most clearly present in Dylan, the second of Liam and Tara's four children. He had large, amber colored eyes framed by long, thick lashes. Unlike his other three siblings, he had a tanned, golden complexion all year round, despite the often frigid New Hampshire winters.

Ben, the third child born into the family, took after his father with flawless, fair skin, peppered with freckles near his nose. However, he shared his mother's thick, dark hair. The family always joked that Ben got the best of both worlds where looks were concerned.

Dylan and Ben were devastated to lose their family just a month earlier. After the walker virus paralyzed the country, the Murray's became trapped in Georgia while trying to get back home to New Hampshire. They had taken up with a group of survivors outside of Atlanta. The leader of the group, a man named Jack Dobbs, welcomed the Murray clan with open arms at first. Everyone seemed to get along pretty well throughout the hot, humid summer.

However, after seeing how strong both Liam and the Murray's eldest son, Josh, were, he became nervous about his standing with the other survivors. Liam and Josh were clearly natural leaders. Josh, at twenty-two years old stood just as tall and broad shouldered as his father, and shared the man's tendency to speak his mind. The two men would often clash with Jack, and much to Jack's dismay, the rest of the survivors would side with the Murray's. Most recently, tensions had begun to get out of control. Liam started to talk about the Murray's leaving the group for good.

One early morning, a month earlier, Dylan and Ben left to go on a routine scavenge, armed with a fire axe and Josh's hunting rifle. Ben was always the one to carry the rifle, as Liam did not think the boy was strong enough for a hand-to-hand altercation with either a walker or a human. However he was an excellent marksman. Dylan had shown much promise with the axe, which he used with strength and confidence. It was just edging on dusk when the two boys arrived back at camp, celebrating their acquisition of first aid supplies, socks and canned ravioli. Both approached camp with more caution than usual. It was too quiet. Something was wrong.

They found a horrific scene. Everyone in camp lay dead or dying. Some had gunshot wounds while walkers had bitten others. Dylan and Ben stood in disbelief as they found Liam and Josh with single gunshot wounds to their heads. Walkers had ravaged Tara and their seven-year-old sister Natalie. Just a few feet away lay Josh's girlfriend Amy, who'd accompanied them on their trip to Disney months before. Dylan choked back vomit when he saw that it appeared as if her head had been ripped from her body. Shreds of flesh still clung to her shoulders. Her eyes were open and her jaws snapped hungrily at Dylan. He reached for the fire axe and lifted it into the air. "I'm so sorry Amy." With all his strength, he brought the weapon down in between her eyes, finally ceasing her movements.

"I shot them," sobbed a woman's voice from the ground. It was Marie Talbot, the only surviving member of their group. "I put Tara and Natalie out of their misery. I'm so sorry, boys." Fresh tears spilled from her eyes. Dylan noted a nasty bite wound on her shoulder. Her husband lay dead next to her, as did her two small daughters.

Dylan knelt in front of her. "Marie, when did this happen?" he demanded. "Ben and I didn't hear any shots. I don't understand."

"This morning I think, but I can't quite," she said, through wracks of sobs. "Your father and Josh…there was a big fight with Jack. He…he shot them both. My husband had come to your dad's defense so Jack shot him too. Walkers heard it and set upon us all. They took my babies! We tried to fight back but it just wasn't enough. Your mom…she fought so hard for her and your sister. And I did my best, Dylan. I swear."

Dylan held Marie by the face. She was burning with fever, yet shivering at the same time. He felt sorry for her. She was just a young mother who'd lost her spouse and her two small children. And now the walker sickness was about to take her. "I know you did. I know. Marie…Marie…where is Jack Dobbs?" he asked, salty tears pouring onto his face.

"Gone," said Marie breathlessly. "A long time ago. He ran. He and those cowards Arnold Brewer and Mike Pell took off and left us women to fight. They took whatever guns they could carry, 'cept this one," she said, pointing the Beretta at her temple. Dylan instantly recognized his father's gun, once shiny and polished, now covered in dried blood. "I have nothing left," she whispered, cocking the gun.

"Marie!" Dylan choked out, reaching for her wrist. She pulled the trigger, blood spraying out of the other side of her head. Dylan caught her as she fell into his arms. The sound of the gun rang in his ears. "Oh my God," he whispered. He watched Ben, kneeling over Natalie's body. The boy looked like he was made of stone. His body was rigid and unmoving. Only his face was contorted with agony.

Dylan lay Marie down between her husband and daughters. He went to Ben's side. He wanted to curl into a ball and cry until he couldn't physically stand it anymore. The grief was utterly overwhelming, as if he was beaten until close to death, but was never actually allowed to succumb to the dark. He grabbed his father's hand, now cold and hard with rigor mortis. The man was his hero. Dylan squeezed his hand, trying to extract any possible life Liam Murray may have had left in him, perhaps transferring something to his second child such as his strength and valor.

Suddenly Dylan felt something pulling him by the shoulders. He turned, expecting to see a starving walker or possibly Jack Dobbs coming back for more revenge. However nothing was there. He peered at Ben, who had not moved from his spot next to Natalie. He felt the sensation again and looked down at his father. It was then that he knew. "Ben," he said. "We have to go. It's not safe here anymore. We have to go. I'll protect you. We'll protect each other." The words were not Dylan Murray's, but his father's.

Since then, Dylan and Ben stayed together and their only purpose was fighting for each other's survival. They used the knowledge passed down by their father and older brother to keep them fed, sheltered and safe from harm. They stayed together and shunned any survivors they happened upon. Dylan felt that his family already paid the ultimate price for trusting others. He vowed never to make that mistake again.


	2. Chapter 2

2

****Hello there—This chapter will include more back-story on the boys. Then we will move forward fairly quickly. I just wanted to give a little more background. Thanks to any one reading/alerting. Please review if you'd like as well. I value any feedback. Thanks!**

Dylan rubbed Ben's freshly shaven head roughly. "There," he said, proudly. "Not so bad for just using liquid soap and a disposable razor, huh? You look just like a mini-SEAL kiddo. Or Mister Clean."

Ben looked into the mirror at his freshly shorn head. The boys had both taken to shaving their heads even before their father died. The Georgia summers were hot enough. They didn't want to deal with a full head of hair in addition to that. However, even as the weather got cooler, they continued the tradition in honor of their father and brother with a bi-weekly "sheep shearing" as Dylan called them. Ben grimaced in the mirror. "Looks good. But it feels awful. Burns."

"You'll get used to it," said Dylan, running the razor over his own head. "Maybe someday I'll find some clippers and a place to actually get electricity and do it up right." He gave his head one final rinse in the sink and packed up his bag. "Ready?" he asked.

"As I'll ever be," said Ben, putting his rifle over his shoulder.

As the boys set out for the day and walked in the woods that ran parallel to route 74, Dylan noticed Ben giving him sidelong glances. "What?" he asked.

"Nothing," said Ben, shrugging. "Just wondering why we didn't have training this morning. Not even a morning workout. We've only skipped once before. The morning after everyone—well, you know."

Ben was justified in his question. Since being trapped in Georgia, Liam Murray made the entire family get up and train with him every morning, something that Dylan continued with Ben after their fathers passing. The series always consisted of intense stretching followed by an hour of some form of martial arts. The entire family would participate up until that point. After that, Josh and Dylan were taken away for more in-depth practices. It was during those times that Liam shared many of his SEAL secrets with his eldest sons. Offensive and defensive technique, ambush tactics, even ways to survive torture…everything was covered. Liam never gave his boys real life accounts from his own career, but Josh and Dylan knew with certainty that their father was passing on his personal experiences through his lessons.

Dylan was so proud that his father included him in these sessions, but they scared him in many ways. Some of the things they had to learn were dark and morbid. However, their entire world was thrust into an alternate reality, so Dylan knew it was only a matter of time before he'd have to engage in some of the frightening things his father introduced him to.

Before the walker apocalypse, Liam never said much about his job, although his sons thought that it was just about the coolest occupation in the world. In fact, it inspired Josh to enlist when he was eighteen and Dylan planned to do the same. Despite Liam's discretion regarding his job, he still made it a point to enroll each of his children in something that would help them to develop and eventually master a skill. These skills were for the sole purpose of defending themselves. Little did Liam know just how much his children would need to depend on what they'd learned.

Josh grew up loving to shoot, and eventually Ben eagerly followed in his footsteps. The pair spent three nights a week at the gun range together, shooting everything from a .22 to a .357 and a twelve gauge. At first, Ben's arrival at the range would put people off. Some of the people there didn't think a young child should learn how to shoot, but Liam didn't want to stifle his son's interests, especially since the boy always showed nothing but respect and responsibility for the weapons he utilized. Eventually, the men and women at the range grew to enjoy Ben's visits. He was without a doubt the superior marksman, despite his youth.

Natalie's love was soccer. It was all she talked about from dawn until dusk. Liam had hopes of her learning some self defense in the future, but as such a young girl, he was willing to give her the space to pursue her own interests. Liam was excited when she expressed an interest in archery; however, she wasn't given much of a chance to develop any sort of skill before the walker sickness spread.

Dylan was the fighter of the family. Liam and Tara constantly had to engage in conferences with his first and second grade teachers regarding his playground brawls. At first, Liam and Tara would punish Dylan, assuming he was being a bully, something neither would tolerate. However, after really listening to their son, it was discovered that Dylan was, in fact, trying to defend other children against the bullies. "But you guys don't understand!" an eight-year-old Dylan pleaded from his room after being exiled there as punishment. "Tommy Doyle has been teasing Billy Maroni all week! He stole his lunch twice and put gum on his chair. He was pushing him in the play yard and I defended Billy. Dad, didn't you say that's what you're supposed to do when you see somebody picking on someone else?"

Liam and Tara exchanged one of their many unspoken glances. "Dylan," said Liam. "Is that why you've been fighting? You're trying to stick up for the other kids?"

Dylan nodded. "Yes, it's what I've been trying to tell you! Why wouldn't you want me to stick up for other people Dad? You always say how important it is. Like how you fight for America, right?"

Liam had sat down on the bed and sighed. "Dyl, suddenly your old dad feels a little stupid," he said, mussing his son's hair. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize what you were doing. I should have trusted you."

Dylan was enrolled in his first Karate class by the next week. However, after three months of training, Dylan's instructor asked to speak with Liam. "He's doing fantastic. He excels in all of his poses. His movements are neat, clean and precise. Dylan is respectful and shows incredible potential."

"I'm confused then," said Liam. "On the phone yesterday it sounded like something was wrong."

"There is," said his instructor. "He's bored to tears. He's going through the motions but his heart is not in the practice."

"What?" asked Liam. "I don't understand. You said he had so much potential."

"He does. But his passion is not in Karate," said the instructor, sighing. "You're a SEAL right, Liam?"

"Yes," answered Liam.

"You've learned a variety of fighting styles. What's your favorite? Don't answer what the most effective one is…just tell me your _favorite_," said the instructor.

Liam looked thoughtful. "Krav maga."

"Why?"

"I don't know," said Liam. "It's tactical, which I like. I guess it just feels natural to me. Like it's my own special style, maybe. I feel like I'm most dangerous and most able to defend others and myself when I use that style. Why?"

"You have to help Dylan do that. Share all the things you've learned. See what he seems to get really jazzed about. THEN you provide him with every opportunity to become an expert in that area. Dylan could someday be a Karate master. But he will never love it," said the instructor. "Think about it."

For the next month Liam went in the backyard with Dylan and shared all of the martial arts taught to him in his SEAL training. The young boy reveled not only in learning something new but the special attention that he was getting from his father. Liam was impressed by Dylan's enthusiasm and how quickly he learned. Each night, he'd try to assess his boy's level of enjoyment. It soon became clear one evening about an hour before dinner. "Ju Jitsu again tonight Dyl," said Liam. When he saw his son's eyes light up, he knew that Dylan had found his love.

Dylan was immediately enrolled in Ju Jitsu classes and his teacher grew more and more excited by the day regarding the boy's progress. "Such discipline," his teacher said proudly. "He loves every minute of his training." That's all Liam needed to hear.

Four years into his Ju Jitsu practice, Dylan approached Liam again. "I want more power," he said bluntly.

"More power?" asked Liam.

"Dad, I love Ju Jitsu. I want to train forever in it," he declared.

"I'm so glad," said Liam giggling. "So what's this power you're talking about then?"

"Well in Ju Jitsu, I like how I can use my opponents power against him you know? I like being able to tire someone out while I stay full of energy. I never have to throw a punch or anything," said Dylan.

"But?" asked Liam.

"But what if someday I DO have to throw that punch? Or block a punch because I just wasn't quick enough? I want those times to really count, you know? When I strike, I want it to mean something. I need to learn to HAVE more power, not just how to avoid it."

Dylan's statements took Liam aback. Here he was, thinking his son was simply throwing himself headfirst into his training for the simple enjoyment of it. He never realized that the child actually understood what all of his efforts were meant to achieve. "So what did you have in mind? You weren't all that crazy about Karate, and…"

"Kung fu," said Dylan, his eyes glittering. "The five animal styles," he said excitedly. "Can I start classes in that soon?"

Liam chuckled, happy that he and Tara had always socked extra money away for their children's extracurricular interests. "Sure Dyl. If it's Kung fu you want, then Kung fu you shall have. Are you sure you can handle your Ju Jitsu training and your schoolwork along with all of that? That's a tall order, you know."

Dylan nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, definitely! Thanks so much Dad!" he exclaimed, hugging his father tightly…

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

"Hey Earth to Dylbo," said Ben, patting his brother on the shoulder.

Dylan was taken from his reverie. "I'm sorry Ben, I…"

"You just went somewhere that's else," said Ben, looking concerned. "Did I get you upset when I asked about why we didn't train today?"

Dylan shook his head. "No, not at all. It just made me think back to a few years ago. You know, Ju Jitsu and Kung fu and the gun range and all that. How we've been training all of our lives almost. Like dad was preparing us for this kind of life all along."

Ben looked down at his feet while they walked. The summer had finally melted into autumn and a cooler, milder air caressed his face. He adjusted the rifle that was slung across his shoulder. "Maybe not this life exactly but I think he definitely wanted us to know how to defend ourselves in some way or another. Guess we have a lot to thank him for."

Dylan nodded. "Yeah."

They walked silently for a while before Ben kicked his older brother in the behind. "So you never answered me," he said, giggling. "Why didn't we train today?"

Dylan smiled. "I wanted to get a real early start. We're low on supplies and that waffle house didn't have much more than peanut butter, which, trust me, I appreciate, but we're gonna have to do better than that."

"Yeah," said Ben. "Could use more bullets," he said. "And new shoes would be awesome. And maybe some aloe vera for my poor, abused head," he said, pouting and lightly running his fingers over his skull.

"We could use a lot of things," said Dylan. "Hence no training this morning. But don't get too used to it. Once we get ourselves some supplies and a place to camp for awhile, we'll get right back to it."

Ben smiled. "Wouldn't have it any other way," he said. "Although that extra few minutes of sleep this morning was nice."

The pair continued westward and away from the main road until they found a thin yet healthy looking brook. There, they added to their canteens and rinsed off their faces and hands. Had they not enjoyed a makeshift bath in the men's room sinks earlier, it would have been a prime spot to wash up. However, Dylan and Ben pressed on, wanting to arrive at something resembling a house or a store before late morning.

They walked along the brook, admiring the way the sun glistened off of the bubbling water. Occasionally, they'd catch sight of a large aquatic bird or a small mammal, making it's way to the brook to enjoy a cool drink. "I wonder where this leads," said Dylan.

"Let's keep following it," suggested Ben. "I'd like to find out."

Dylan nodded as they continued on. He wasn't a huge fan of walking in the woods. Each little movement had the both of them on high alert, even though it was improbable that there were walkers about in such quiet areas. However, one could never be too careful.

Although walkers weren't as big of a fear for the boys as humans were. Humans were their real enemy and the true predators as far as they Murrays were concerned. Walkers only had one goal—to feed. Humans were much more intelligent, calculating, and at times, evil. They were the ones with dangerous or even deadly agendas. Dylan thought of Jack Dobbs and his fists clenched. That man's insecurities got Dylan and Ben's parents and siblings killed. No, being with humans was far more dangerous then some flesh eating monster.

Whenever a squirrel would push his or her way through some dry leaves, Dylan and Ben jumped, not because they thought a walker was about. They were easy enough to dispose of. However they did fear the day that they'd come face to face with a set of clear eyes and the brain behind it not disabled by sickness. That individual would be their biggest threat.

The sun became just high enough on the horizon where the boys began squinting against its brightness. They each pulled baseball caps out of their bags to filter the suns strong rays. Dylan stopped short and looked around. Something icy began to tickle at his spine. He couldn't quite figure out what it was. Not walkers, no, they'd come stumbling right out in order to get a good meal. But…what then? "I think we should move away from the brook," he decided. "It's making it harder to hear clearly."

"But," started Ben, "I wanted to…"

"Don't argue," scolded Dylan harshly. He suddenly softened. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to snap at you," he said, getting closer to his brother. "I just think we need to get somewhere…safer, if that's even the right word to use. "I think that something, well someone, might be watching us. Maybe tracking us. I don't know."

"Walkers?" asked Ben.

"No, not walkers. At least I don't think so," said Dylan, peering all around them.

"Are you sure?" asked Ben. "Because that hungry looking bastard coming up behind you looks pretty suspicious." He nodded behind his brother.

Dylan rolled his eyes. "Terrific." He was the one with the quieter weapon; therefore he got the shit job of walker disposal. He turned to see a gargantuan of an undead man approaching him still twenty-five feet away, just near a stone wall. Dylan supposed they stirred the creature as it rested against the wall. Otherwise, both of them would have heard the monstrosity that bumbled through the woods in front of them from a mile away. His eyes, though clouded over, still indicated his overwhelming need to feed on Dylan and Ben. He turned to his brother and saw that the boy already had his rifle at the ready. He turned back to the beast. "Come on, just a little closer," he whispered.

The monster salivated a kind of black ooze from its jaws, quickening his pace towards Dylan. The young man simultaneously raised his fire axe and took a deep inhale. "Come on, come on, come on," he whispered. The creature let out a deafening roar and made one final lurch towards Dylan, who exhaled and brought the axe down on the walker's skull using all of his power of breath and musculature.

The weapon was brought down with such force that the entire blade of the axe was buried in the walker's brain matter. Only the handle was visible. "Jesus," Ben whispered, fascinated at the strength behind his brother's swing. "Remind me never to piss you off Dylbo."

"Okay Ben," he said, placing his boot on the walkers shoulder and holding tight to the handle. Again, he inhaled, and then exhaled, extracting the thick blade from the creature's skull like he was pulling a knife from butter. "Don't ever piss me off," he said with a raised eyebrow and a hint of mischief in his amber eyes.

Ben shook his head. "Such a show off."

Dylan examined the blade to his axe, noting there wasn't much blood to speak of. He gave it a quick wipe down with one of the old rags that he carried for just such a purpose. He tossed the rag aside and looked around them again. Even the sound of the brook seemed less sharp and clear as before, as if he had earmuffs or headphones on. He struggled to get his bearings.

"Still feeling like something's watching us or was it just the walker all along?" asked Ben.

Dylan definitely felt something close by. He thought back to those ocular puzzles that dared the viewer to find the object hidden amongst a confusing mass of shapes and colors. Dylan knew that the trees and the leaves of the woods where he and Ben stood were the puzzle. But what was the object hidden amongst the greenery? He wasn't sure if he wanted to find out. He thought back to his father's lessons in camouflage. Whoever or whatever was watching them was quite good at remaining hidden. He and Ben would simply just have to do a better job at hiding than their watcher. "Let's head out Ben," he said, tucking his axe back into the sling attached to his backpack.

The two headed out closer towards the road, all of their senses tingling in trepidation.


	3. Chapter 3

3

***Thank you so much to ChaosUmbrella and The Cocky Undead for your great comments! Also thanks to everyone reading/alerting. I appreciate that very much! **

Just before eleven AM there was a brief celebration when Dylan and Ben found what looked like a very small town square nestled under the cover of large, majestic trees. The trees hung over the buildings like loving, protective arms. The boys observed the quaint scene that included the post office, schoolhouse, general store and barbershop. There was even what appeared to be a small pub on the far end of the square. Small, historic homes peppered the area just along the outskirts of the town center.

Cicadas offered their last bits of chatter in the trees, already tiring as the autumn closed in upon them. Two mourning doves huddled next to each other on a nearby power line, granting their melancholy calls to their two human visitors.

Dylan and Ben looked at each other with knowing eyes. All verbal communication was to cease during their scout. Ben readied his rifle and Dylan unsheathed his axe. They chose to enter the general store first, as it would most likely produce the most supplies, if, of course, it had not already been raided.

Neither was sure if it was a good sign that the front door was unlocked, but they entered cautiously and quietly nonetheless. Each silently opened their backpacks and began their search of the grounds, all the time with their weapons available for any trouble that might be ahead. Ben grabbed protein bars, peanut butter and crackers. He was also able to find some canned soup that was still good, along with plastic utensils.

Dylan noted a pharmacy in the back and hustled to that area. His mental list played over and over in his head. 'Ibuprofen, antibiotic ointment, antacids, powder…' He gratefully stocked up on all of these items before going to the very back for antibiotics. It was the one item he'd wanted to secure for some time. He and Ben had miraculously escaped infections from wounds, as well as eating food that could have been past the expiration date. Having those types of medicines on hand for emergencies would be ideal. He poked around, frowning as he found mostly blood pressure medicines and birth control pills.

Ben peeked his head around the corner, grinning at him. He held up several different bottles. Dylan smiled as his younger brother handed him the bottles. He rejoiced when he saw the two bottles of the antibiotic Cipro, along with prescription strength Niacin and multivitamins. He nodded at his younger brother in approval and placed the items in his bag.

Next were the usual necessities like deodorant, razors, soap, sunscreen shaving cream, baby wipes and batteries. Once the boys were loaded up, they quietly exited the store and took a look around the rest of the town. It was quiet, but not eerily so. Rather, it seemed peaceful. They had not come across a walker or a human yet and Dylan prayed that they wouldn't. If the area was found to be clear, Dylan felt the little town would be a great place for he and Ben to settle for a while. Still, Dylan still had the nagging feeling of the mysterious watcher from the woods. Perhaps, he thought, in an effort to ease his own mind, that it was a wayward animal, possibly a dog that might be hungry and looking to take up with humans. However, his practical nature fought against that theory.

The post office was unsurprisingly a wash, and the pub was no better. However, Dylan noted comfortable chairs and a deadlock on both entrances, along with a large utility sink with running water. The pub could be a good place for sleeping at night, as could the schoolhouse. However, that building was chained up and inaccessible. Ben made the signal for walker by walking his index and middle finger across his palm and shrugged in order to non-verbally ask if there were dead chained inside the school.

Dylan shrugged back to indicate that he wasn't sure and it wasn't something he was too concerned about at the time. He checked the strength of both chains and noted that no sounds could be heard from within the structure. He knew schools were typically chained at night and perhaps it was simply closed during the time of the walker outbreak. If they stayed the night, the school would, however, be worth checking out in the morning. He signaled to Ben that he preferred to move on.

The barbershop produced the clippers that Dylan wanted, but with no electricity, they'd be useless. However, it did have some soothing balm, which he handed to Ben with a smile. The boy gratefully took it and packed it away.

The church was also quiet and completely empty. The stained glass windows glittered as jewels against the knotty pine interior of the church. Ben nudged Dylan and nodded to the altar. His grey eyes looked somber. Dylan nodded and knelt down with his brother. As per family tradition, they made the sign of the cross on their foreheads with their thumbs. They temporarily broke their vow of silence in order to whisper a prayer in unison. "Oh Lord, be between us and protect us from the harm of the world. Amen."

Upon exiting the church, it was silently agreed upon that the four homes would be checked as well. If everything was found to be clear of human and walker alike, the boys would likely stay in the little town indefinitely.

Fingers crossed, they entered each house with extreme caution. All were free of any entities, living or undead. There was no sign of the homes' previous owners nor was there any indication that anyone was camping out in the abandoned homes. Dylan felt that it was finally safe to speak out loud. "I think we should stay in the pub at night," said Dylan, while inside one of the homes. "It's got the best options security-wise for us."

"I agree," said Ben. "Did you notice that they've got a charcoal grill in the back too? If we ever manage to catch an animal, we'd have something to grill up."

That option had always seemed unlikely. Ben was an excellent shot, and could probably wrangle up some much-needed meat, but the sound of the rifle fire was risky. It could attract many unwelcome guests. "I'll tell you what, Ben," said Dylan. "If we do decide to stay for awhile, we'll figure something out. Maybe we can hunt a few miles away so we don't attract walkers. Or maybe one of these days we'll find you a nice quiet crossbow and we can hunt right from our own backyard."

Ben's eyes lit up. "A crossbow? Really? Man, that would be cool! You think one of these houses has one? I've only shot one a couple of times, though. I'd have to get a lot of target practice in first."

"Slow down, baby brother," said Dylan, tugging on the rim of Ben's hat. "It's almost two in the afternoon. I think we need to get back to the pub. We've got to eat, set walker traps and secure the place before dusk."

"But," started Ben.

"I promise we'll root around for a crossbow tomorrow," said Dylan. His eyes were, as always, patient, kind and caring. "Deal?"

Ben relented. "Okay. Deal."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

It was Ben's job to set the traps, which was a fairly easy task. The boys had acquired an old set of decorative holiday bells that were meant for Christmas trees. Ben always kept them carefully wound up in a small duffel bag. He made the mistake of letting Dylan pack them up one morning. His elder brother did not exercise the same care with the bells as Ben usually did. Needless to say, Ben was not thrilled when it took him nearly an hour to untangle the noisy little bells later on. From that day on, he was the only one who was allowed to pack the bells anymore.

Ben secured the lines of jingling bells with a hammer and nails, always being careful not to pound the hammer too hard against the tree, as to avoid causing the sound to echo throughout the surrounding area. Once the traps were completed, he assisted Dylan in getting sheets, blankets and pillows from one of the houses. They rearranged the furniture to account for two sleeping areas, and put aside two large tables that they would eventually place in front of the entrances once they were inside for the night.

They enjoyed cold chicken soup from the can for dinner and threw around an old football they found until it started to get too dark for them to safely be outside anymore. Dylan did one final check of the pub's interior before bolting both doors and placing the tables in front of them. Ben got under the blankets and turned on his flashlight to read one of the magazines he'd taken from the store earlier. He watched Dylan settle in. "Hey," he whispered.

"What is it?" whispered Dylan.

"Dad's gun," he said, nodding to his older brother's backpack.

He looked sheepishly at Ben. "I'd almost forgotten," he said, reaching into his backpack and extracting his fathers Beretta. Dylan primarily utilized his axe, but his father's gun was by his side each night, whenever and wherever he slept. For some reason he'd forgotten it on this night. Fortunately, Ben was there to remind him. "Thanks," he said, placing the gun next to him and getting back under the covers.

Dylan lay on his back, his body and mind thoroughly exhausted. Despite sleeping in unfamiliar surroundings, he felt himself being pulled into unconsciousness. The threat of the watcher in the woods began to slowly fade away with the lullaby of crickets outside.

4AM

Ben felt himself being shaken awake. He went to speak but felt Dylan's hand close upon his mouth. "Shhh," whispered Dylan. "We have company."

Ben shot up and reached for his rifle. "Walkers?" he mouthed.

"No," whispered Dylan, his right hand wrapped tightly around the Beretta. "Didn't trip the bells. And they're quite chatty too."

Ben's jaw clenched as he saw shadows near the pubs small windows. _Humans._ "How many?"

"Sounds to me like two, maybe three. All men," said Dylan. "They know we're in here too, so there's gonna be no use in hiding."

"Are they were the ones that you thought were tracking us?" asked Ben.

"Yes. Definitely," said Dylan. "I heard them talking about it. I think they might be scouts for a bigger camp. They kept mentioning others. Ben, listen…their intentions towards us are not good. We're gonna have to take care of this and quickly."

Ben noted his brother's dark expression and knew exactly what it meant. Had Dylan and Ben happened upon these men while scouting the town, they'd graciously pack up and leave. However these people followed THEM here, on to what was now Murray territory. Ben knew that these men would most certainly try to stake their claim, but that Dylan would have none of it. The elder Murray would certainly never accept three new people on to his turf and Ben didn't disagree with that, especially knowing that the newcomers had malicious intent. He knew that a fight was about to ensue and that the losers would have to run with their tails between their legs…IF they made it out alive at all.


	4. Chapter 4

4

***Hi there! Thank you Ashmo21 and ChaosUmbrella for your comments! Merle is most certainly on the way and I hope you enjoy my characterization of him. Thank you also to those reading and alerting. Have a good day!**

Dylan listened to the men whisper just below one of the windows. He'd managed to crack it open about two inches without anyone noticing. He'd intentionally kept Ben away from the window as the discussion their visitors had both angered and disgusted Dylan. One suggested slitting the Murray boy's throats and burning the bodies. Another had a slower, more painful approach. Dylan wondered how so many people were so willing to part with their humanity. Dylan knew he'd never intentionally hurt someone, but if his or especially Ben's life hung in the balance, he was willing to kill another human being if he had to.

The reality of this scared Dylan more than he would have liked to admit. Fortunately, he had not had to resort to violence against another person in order to survive. Not yet. However, he knew the time would come. In fact, as he listened to the tragic fate that the men outside had planned for him and Ben, that time was now at hand.

"What do we do?" whispered Ben.

"We wait until they try to get in here," said Dylan. "Which, trust me, they'll do."

"And then?" asked Ben, his nerves rattled, but still holding his rifle steady. "Will we at least talk to them?"

"We don't need to," whispered Dylan. "I heard everything they said. It's either us or them, Ben."

Ben looked down at the floor. "But we can't fire our guns. Walkers will hear."

"We might have to take that chance," said Dylan, approaching Ben. "Look Ben I can handle the…the shooting. Just keep your rifle handy in case something happens to me, okay?"

Ben's face was painted with concern. "If something happens to you? I…okay. Okay Dyl," he said, swallowing back any fear he had. "I'll be ready."

The men outside engaged in a short, yet heated argument regarding how they would get into the pub before they agreed upon breaking the window and going in through the stockroom.

"Idiots," said Dylan, shaking his head. "Where'd these dummies learn to whisper? A helicopter?" He nodded to Ben. "Get behind the bar. I don't want you coming out until my signal and do not fire that rifle unless it's absolutely necessary, you hear me?"

Ben hustled behind the bar without argument. He got down on one knee and waited. He flinched when he heard the sound of glass breaking. Dylan stood just to the left of the window as the first man tried coming inside. Dylan saw a mop of scraggy blonde locks and wasted no time slamming his gun down upon it. The man made no sound before he lost consciousness. Dylan used all of his strength to drag the man in through the window. He silently scolded himself due to his lack a cogent plan. What the hell was he going to do with the three men once he'd dragged them all inside?

He dropped him on the floor, all the man's dead weight landing with a thud. From the outside, it appeared as if the blonde man simply fell as he was trying to crawl in through the window, causing the other two males to snicker at their friend's mishap.

"Have a nice trip, Nicky?" one of them whispered through giggles.

Dylan made quick work of searching the unconscious man for any useable weapons. He unsheathed a large hunting knife, and turned it over in his hand, the metal gleaming. "Well you're not totally useless are you, Nicky?" asked Dylan. He looked down at the unconscious man and held the knife steady in his hand. 'Just a quick slash," he thought to himself. 'He'll never even know and no walkers will hear.' He struggled as the sound of his heart thrummed in his ears. It felt as though he were having an out of body experience, watching himself cut someone's throat. The man's sun-bronzed neck indicated a strong pulse. Dylan's breathing became rapid. He raised the knife, but stopped short when he heard an argument ensue outside the window.

"Who the hell are you?" one of the men asked.

Dylan heard the raspy drawl of a man quite obviously not with the intruders' crew. "Ya'll best take your shit and leave them boys alone," he said.

"Or what?" asked one of the men.

"Well, keep standin' there mouthin' off if ya really wanna find out ya dumb son of a bitch," said the mystery man.

Dylan approached the window and carefully looked out. The two intruders were standing across from a much larger, extremely imposing looking individual. His hair was kept nice and short, like Liam Murray used to wear his own. He was well built, possibly in his forties or fifties from what Dylan could gather. His clothing consisted of well-worn black jeans, a t-shirt, leather vest, and large black boots. He cocked his head to the side and blinked twice upon looking at the man's hands. Was he missing one of them? Dylan thought maybe he was seeing things, but upon closer observation he confirmed it. The mystery man was clearly missing his right hand.

Dylan quietly watched the scene unfold. The two intruders, one very tall and lanky, the other short but stocky, aimed their guns at the mystery man. "Looks like we can mouth off all we want, shithead. We're the ones with the guns," said the short man.

"Hey," said the mystery man. "I think instead of standing here chatting with me, you two slack jawed idiots might try to look for your friend. He's been gone awhile, hasn't he?"

"Never mind about him," said the tall man, raising his gun a little higher. "Why don't you hit the old dusty trail, man? Let us take care of business."

"Business? Oh you mean robbin' and killin' two kids? I don't think so," said the mystery man. "And don't tell me when its time to leave."

"Oh yeah? Well what would you do, huh? Them little bastards found this prime piece of real estate. Got everything we need here. We're frikking starving and need shelter. We'll make it quick. Blow their brains out. Clean and easy," said the tall man.

"Maybe keep the younger one for awhile though," said the short man, snickering. "Ain't had a woman in ages. That little guy would be fun. Just close your eyes and ya won't even know the difference!"

They both laughed uproariously. Dylan felt sick to his stomach at the thought of anyone doing something so disgusting to Ben. Dylan knew they'd have to accomplish their sick acts over his dead body.

"Besides, we've been tracking those two little pricks since the waffle house near 74. We earned it, asshole," said the tall man.

The mystery man scoffed. "Ya didn't earn nothin. I've been following you three dumb bastards for a week and you had no idea."

The two intruders looked warily at each other.

Dylan considered going outside to help the mystery man, however, he didn't know what his intentions were either. He could just as easily show up to "save" the Murrays, and gain their trust only to turn around and rob them and kill them himself. He decided to let the three of them duke it out. Maybe they'd all kill each other in the process and save Dylan any extra effort.

"Like I'd believe anything you said, you old bastard!" hollered the tall man. He approached the mystery man and held his pistol right against his head. "You best get out of here or we can burn your body in the same pit as them boys," he said angrily.

The mystery man giggled. "You know, you should never place a gun right up against someone, stupid. 'Cause they can always do this," he said, grabbing the tall man by the wrist. Dylan heard the man's wrist bones snap before he howled and the gun fell from his limp hand. The mystery man then slammed his right foot into the tall mans knee. Dylan winced as he saw the bones separate in the man's legs. He fell to the ground, groaning in agony.

Without missing a beat, the mystery man picked up the tall mans gun and tossed it towards the very shocked and dumbfounded short man, who fumbled with his own gun, only to drop both weapons on the ground. Quick as could be, the mystery man slammed his left fist into the short man's nose. Fresh blood spilled from his face as he fell to his knees. The mystery man wrapped his left arm around the short man's head and whispered something in his ear. The man suddenly began to struggle wildly before the mystery man quickly and forcefully broke his neck.

The short man fell to the ground on his face. The tall man squealed and crawled along the ground. "No! No! Please!" he screamed, as the mystery man unsheathed a large hunting knife. "Oh God no!" said the tall man, trying to stand on his good leg to no avail. The mystery man straddled him, breaking his other wrist. The tall man panted and begged for his life.

Dylan jumped when he felt Ben come up beside him. "What's going on?" he asked, trying to look outside. "Jesus Ben I said stay put," he said, grabbing his brother and shielding his eyes; just at the mystery man slashed the tall man's throat. He held Ben to him and covered his ears as the man's gurgles slowly faded away.

Dylan watched in horror as the mystery man stood and turned around. He locked eyes with Dylan. "Ben get back behind the bar and keep your rifle ready," ordered Dylan, as they ran from the stockroom, nearly tripping over the unconscious blonde man on the floor.

"Who was that guy?" asked Ben.

"Not sure if we want to find out," said Dylan. He'd never seen such a large person move so swiftly and gracefully before. In addition, he attacked with the force of four men. He'd never known anyone so dangerous, save for his father. However, his father he could trust. This man did not share the same distinction.

Dylan heard him enter through the window, stopping presumably to inspect the blonde man, Nicky. Satisfied that the man was sufficiently unconscious, he entered the bar area, where he saw only Dylan, holding a Beretta with a surprisingly steady grip. "You okay kid?" was all he asked. Dylan was taken aback by the sincerity and softness in his voice, but quickly recovered, remembering that this was a man who just killed two grown men in the time it would take to pour a cup of coffee.

Dylan backed up a step. "I'm fine," he said cautiously. He contemplated firing on the man, but something was holding him back. He certainly didn't trust the newcomer, but part of him was fascinated as well.

"Where's the other boy?" asked the man.

Dylan shook his head. "It's just me."

The man chuckled. "Boy I already know there are two of ya. I was trackin' the three idiots that came here for over a week. When they set upon ya'll, I followed along. I know for a fact there's two of ya." He came closer to Dylan, who circled around, his back now to the stockroom. "All right, I get it. You want to protect your little friend. I get that. I'm not tryin to be no trouble to you boys, I promise. I'm Merle. Merle Dixon."

Dylan studied Merle carefully. "Dylan," he said. "Dylan Murray."

"Okay Dylan Murray. Nice makin' your acquaintance. What's your friend's name?" asked Merle. "The one hidin' behind the bar," he asked, with raised eyebrows.

Dylan could see Ben out of the corner of his eye. He watched the boy go to stand up. Dylan cleared his throat. "Like I said, it's just me." Ben crouched back down.

Merle nodded. "Just you. Okay then. Fair enough." Merle said, strolling around the inside of the pub, noting the safety measures the boys had taken. "Nice job settin' up in the pub. Good choice. Most people would have set up in one of them houses but I'd have chosen the pub too."

"Yeah, didn't help much though. Those guys got access through the stockroom easily enough," said Dylan, silently scolding himself.

"Eh, don't beat yourself up too much, kid," said Merle. "Next time you'll know to nail up some two by fours around the windows, that's all. Hell, you've survived this long. Ya must be doin' somethin' right."

Dylan nodded, never taking his eyes off of Merle, who sat down at one of the pubs large, upholstered chairs. He reminded Dylan of someone out of a movie, like some badass character Charles Bronson would have played. He had a strange, charismatic flair, which was magnetic yet terrifying. "Hmmm, comfy," Merle said appreciatively as he put his feet up on another chair. "Well Dylan Murray, I think a much more important matter needs to be taken into consideration right now."

"What's that?" Dylan asked.

Merle raised an eyebrow. "What you gonna do with the asshole that's lying on the floor of the stockroom? Have ya thought about that yet?"

Dylan gulped. "That plan is a bit of a work in progress."

Merle chuckled. "Ya got that right. If I were you I'd take care of him before it's too late," he said before extracting a cigar from the inside pocket of his leather vest. He held it between his teeth as he searched for a lighter. "Damn," he said under his breath, as his left hand padded at all of his pockets. "Now, where the hell did I leave that thing?"

Dylan had been so focused on Merle that he did not notice that Nicky had woken up. He suddenly felt an arm wrap around his neck and a large hand grabbing his wrist, trying to wrestle the gun away from him.

Merle sighed and watched. "Told ya. Too late."

Dylan knew it would be stupid to fire his weapon anyway, so he intentionally dropped the gun, remembering Nicky's hunting knife tucked carefully into the hip pocket of his fatigue pants. Ben had now emerged from the bar, pointing the rifle at the struggling pair.

"Ben stand down!" ordered Dylan, ramming the back of his head into the Nicky's face. The man stumbled backwards momentarily. He watched in shock as fresh blood dripped into his cupped hands.

"You broke my nose you little shit!" he roared, charging back towards Dylan, who, with a very small movement, dodged Nicky, who stumbled forward upon not making contact with his target. He turned his heels to face Dylan again, taking three swings, which Dylan, with almost no effort at all, avoided.

"What the hell?" Nicky asked. He went to grab the Beretta, now on the floor. Dylan only kicked it away with one swift movement. Merle picked it up and casually placed it on the table before folding his arms and watching the scene before him with amusement in his eyes. Nicky angrily charged, only to slam himself right into the bar, as Dylan once again avoided him. Nicky rushed Dylan twice more, successfully ramming himself into a set of barstools and next into a wall. He got up off the floor with great effort, panting in exhaustion.

Merle, who'd finally found his lighter, sat puffing on his cigar and chuckling at the show that was being put on. "Now this is way more entertainin' than television, I tell you what," he said, his shoulders shaking in laughter. "What's that Karate shit you doin anyway, kid?"

"Not Karate. It's called Ju Jitsu," said Dylan, watching Nicky carefully.

"Ju Jitsu," repeated Merle. "Try sayin that five times fast when you're half in the wrapper, huh?" he said, laughing heartily.

Nicky sneered at Dylan, blood now seeping into his short beard, staining it red. He caught sight of Ben behind the bar, eyeing him with rage in his eyes. "Bet that little shit can't dodge me," he said, nodding to Ben.

Ben kept his rifle aimed at the man. "Ben," warned Dylan. "Don't."

"Yeah Ben," taunted Nicky. "Why dontcha put that thing down, you little snot? I bet you don't even know how to use it." He walked closer to the bar. "Do you?" he whispered. He got up even closer, staring into Ben's grey eyes. The boy didn't give Nicky the satisfaction of withering under his gaze. He barely blinked while staring back at Nicky. The man broke gaze and paced a few steps, running his fingers through his hair.

Suddenly he leaned back on the bar, his demeanor changed. "Why we fightin' anyway boys?" he asked, his voice suddenly soft.

"You was the one fightin'," said Merle. "You sure showed them barstools a thing or two though," he said as he exhaled a puff of smoke.

"Shut up," spat Nicky, noting Merle carried no weapon that he could see, and he still had no idea what happened to his two friends outside, therefore he was assumed to be a minimal threat. "I'm talkin' to these boys." He leaned his elbows on to the bar and put all of his focus on Ben. "Why don't you come live with me and my men, little one? Got lots of protection, you know," he cooed. "Don't that sound nice?"

Dylan walked behind the bar and stepped in front of Ben. "He isn't going anywhere with you," he said darkly.

The man scoffed. "Well even if he don't, me and my boys will just go back to our camp and tell 'em all about the sweet deal you got goin' here. We'll see how nice ya'll are when I bring twelve more men back. Yeah, I'll bet you'll be real welcoming' then."

Merle giggled. "Oh, about your boys. They's um, what's the word I'm lookin' for? Oh yeah…dead," he said, making himself laugh hysterically.

Nicky looked suspiciously between Merle and Dylan. "Is that right?" he asked Dylan. The young man nodded.

"Yep," Merle interjected. "Take a look outside for yisself if ya don't believe me. Ones got a broken neck and the other has a sharp lookin' Columbian necktie. I'll tell ya, those two sissies were about as tough to take out as them barstools," he said, cracking himself up again.

Dylan watched as Nicky looked down at the bar, tensing in pure rage. "Well," he whispered, his hand settling near a thick glass ashtray. "Isn't that somethin'?"

"And if you think YOU'RE gonna get outta here alive, then you even dumber than ya look," said Merle, this time without any hint of humor in his voice. A harsh, cold silence tore through the air. All eyes were on Nicky as the man struggled to regulate his breathing.

"So I'm a dead man, am I?" asked the man, now considering his options.

Dylan watched him intently. He knew what happened to the last two men that crossed Merle's path. There was not a doubt in his mind that Merle could easily kill Nicky. And, as he thought about it, that would be the best path to take. After all, if the man were allowed to go free, he'd surely go back to his camp and tell everyone all about the little town and how the two other men met their end. Soon, their safe haven would be crawling with angry, sadistic men out for revenge. No, he'd never allow that to happen, especially to Ben. He thought of Jack Dobbs. That man was granted trust where it was not deserved, and it got his parents and siblings killed. Nicky was just another Jack Dobbs. Dylan set his jaw, feeling the anger build with every beat of his heart. Merle was right. Nicky would not make it out of the pub alive. But Merle wouldn't be the one to kill him.

"Hey kid," said Nicky, looking at Dylan. "Pour me a drink would ya?"

Dylan shared a glance with Merle. The large man nodded at him knowingly.

Nicky pounded on the bar. "Hey! I'm talkin' to you boy! You don't need that asshole's permission. Now pour me one," he hissed.

Dylan considered for a moment. "All right," he said, softly. "What's your poison?"

Nicky grinned, showing dirty, yellowing teeth framed by a bloodstained beard. "That's the sprit! I want top shelf. I don't care much what it is."

Dylan nodded and looked at Ben as he turned. His older brother's expression turned his spine to ice. He gripped his rifle and looked down at his sneakers. 'Don't look up until it's over,' he told himself. 'Don't you dare look up.'

Dylan extracted a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label from the shelf. He held it up and looked at Nicky. "Top shelf enough for you?"

"Dang," said Nicky appreciatively. "Good choice. Maybe when my men come here and take over this place, you can be my lil bitch," he said, grinning. "You can get me drinks and little man over here can boost the morale!" he said, laughing heartily.

Dylan calmly took a rock glass and filled it with the brown liquid. Nicky eyed it with desire. Dylan slid the glass towards Nicky who turned the glass over in his hands, admiring the alcohol inside. "Bottoms up," he said, winking at Dylan. He tipped the glass and began taking a long pull from it.

Dylan wasted no time. He quickly removed the knife from his pocket and plunged the sharp blade just under Nicky's chin. The glass fell from Nicky's hands and he looked right at Dylan's with wide, bloodshot eyes. His body twisted and contorted in its final throes. Dylan held the knife firmly as he watched the life fade from the man. A life he was responsible for ending. Nicky fell face first on to the bar after Dylan swiftly extracted the blade.

Ben cringed before he looked up at his brother. Dylan stood, trying to focus his eyes. Everything was blurry and fuzzy, like after he killed the walker with the axe the day before. However, this feeling was different. Dylan felt nausea and vertigo. His skin suddenly felt clammy. He tried to look at Ben but found he could not. Instead, he chose to look into the steely gaze of Merle Dixon. "Nice job kid," the large man said, standing up and moving to the bar. He grabbed the bottle of Johnnie Walker and poured himself a glass. After taking a long pull, he set the glass back down on the bar and looked at Dylan. "Don't worry. The first time's always the toughest. Next one will be a lot easier."


	5. Chapter 5

5

***Thank you so much for your comments and for reading! Have a great weekend!**

Ben observed his brother as he stepped out from behind the bar. Dylan's eyes ran slowly along Nicky's dead body. His top half was strewn across the bar; face down, while his feet barely rested on the floor. The tips of his blonde hair were stained bright red. It was unnatural to see his body displayed like that. The man's blood had spread across the oak bar and began to trickle like spilled syrup on to the floor.

Ben wanted to go to his brother and say something to comfort him somehow. His mind raced, trying to think of something brilliant that would somehow ease Dylan's mind, however his attempts were in vain. What do you say to someone who's just taken another person's life?

"Maybe ya outta sit a spell, kid," offered Merle, laying a gentle hand on Dylan's shoulder. "Ya look a little green around the gills."

"I'm…I'll be okay." Dylan backed up slowly and went to the utility sink. He turned the spigot and clear, cool water poured forth onto his hands. He scooped the water up and splashed it on his face and head. He leaned into the sink for a few more moments to collect himself. Finally, the vertigo and nausea began to ebb and he was able to stand up.

He walked back into the bar area and past Merle. His father's gun still lay, shiny and pristine, on the table. He took it, put the safety on and tucked it into the front of his fatigue pants. "We should, um, we should burn the bodies fairly soon."

"I agree," said Merle. "I take it ya'll took a good look around yesterday. See anything that would be helpful?"

"There's an old woodpile next to one of the houses," said Dylan. "I bet we could find lighter fluid back at the general store too."

"Good thinkin' kid," said Merle, going over to Nicky, peeling him off the bar and effortlessly throwing him over his shoulder. "You two go get what we need. I'll get the bodies ready. We'll dig a pit so we can just throw some dirt over 'em when we're done."

"But," started Ben, looking at Merle, confused.

Merle turned around. "What is it?"

"How do you…how do you dig with only one hand?" he asked.

Merle threw his head back and laughed heartily. "Well, shit, it's easy! I get two kids to do it for me!" And with that, he moved the table in front of the back entrance, unlatched the door and walked out.

Dylan and Ben exchanged glances. "Looks like we're adding two shovels to our shopping list too," said Dylan, shrugging.

The brothers worked quickly. They found butane right at the front counter of the store. Dylan also grabbed some old newspapers and Auto Traders for kindling just in case the wood was a little damp. They dropped those materials off near to where Merle had placed the bodies. Next, they hustled to the woodpile and grabbed whatever their arms could carry. They loaded everything near Merle before setting out one last time for two additional shovels. Fortunately, two were in an old unlocked shed in the back of one of the houses.

When Ben and Dylan got back to Merle, they began digging and created a pit deep enough to burn and then cover the bodies.

Merle grunted as he inspected the wood. "Looks dry enough," he said. "But we'll pepper it with kindlin' just in case." The boys watched as he piled wood, then a body, then more wood, and another body until he had six layers in a crisscross pattern.

"It looks like some sort of demented lasagna," said Ben, looking at the bodies. Dylan and Ben shoved the kindling into any open areas, while Merle squirted the butane around the bottom and sides. He crouched down and flicked his lighter. The small golden flame took hold of the kindling first, then began to tease at the wood, seducing it into ignition. Dylan took Merle's left hand and assisted him out of the pit.

Merle, Dylan and Ben stood together as the flames danced in their eyes. One a man, one a boy, and one decidedly in-between, listened to wood pop and flesh sizzle. They stood there until the bodies seemed to melt into the wood, making them no longer recognizable, save for their charred skulls. When the flames slowed down their dance and began to tire, Merle turned his head downwards. "Don't ya'll go feelin' bad now. We did better by them than they deserved."

Dylan considered what the three unfortunate souls in the pit were like before the end of times. Were they decent folks before this? Were they someone's father? Brother? Son? And if they had been good people before, then what in the world could they have seen or gone through to turn them into such beasts? Dylan wondered if they had to kill just as he had, but they somehow grew to devalue it…even enjoy it. He thought of what he'd had to do just an hour earlier and prayed that none of his own humanity died with Nicky. He looked down into Ben's eyes, expecting to see shame and fear, but he saw nothing but forgiveness and understanding. He softened and laid a hand on his younger brother's shoulder.

Merle looked up from the pit at the brothers. Dylan tried to read the man's expression, thinking he saw a fleeting glimpse of emotion, only to have it dissipate in a split second. "Ya'll stay out here if ya like. I'm gonna get that bar cleaned up." He turned on his heels and walked back to the pub.

They watched Merle grow smaller in the distance before Dylan spoke. "It's still really early. We should probably saddle up so to speak."

"What?" Ben asked. "Why? I thought you really liked it here."

Dylan nodded to Merle. "You think he's goin' anywhere? Besides we still know nothing about him. No new people, Ben. Especially scary new people."

"But he saved us and," started Ben.

"Ben," said Dylan, sighing. "You're right. He did come to our aid. But I'm afraid that we can't trust him despite that. We know NOTHING about this guy besides he's as tough as nails. I mean where did he come from? Why is he alone? Did he lose his family? Did he have a wife and kids? How the hell did he lose his hand? The list goes on and on."

"Then why don't we find out some things about him?" pleaded Ben. "Can't we just stay another night?"

Dylan shook his head. "Ben that's crazy, you know that."

"No I don't! What's crazy about staying one more night in a perfectly safe place with everything we'll ever need just twenty feet away in every direction?" Ben asked.

"The crazy part is where we stay out in the middle of nowhere with a guy who happily gives out Columbian neckties and could probably kill us in our sleep! Ben…you didn't see what I saw this morning. Merle, he, he just acted so quickly, like it was nothing to kill those two guys. It was just business as usual," said Dylan.

Ben set his jaw. "Dylan what if someone saw what you did this morning and didn't know you? Huh? What if some outsider saw you ram a knife into that guy today?"

Dylan looked at his feet and shrugged.

"Well I'll tell you," said Ben. "They'd probably assume the same things that we are assuming about Merle. They'd think you were some cold-blooded killer and you aren't. Far from it." He lay his rifle down and ran his fingers through his hair. "If, for some reason, you were left alone and you tried to help people like Merle did for us…I wouldn't want those people turning their backs on you. I think we owe Merle the night at least. I know it goes against everything we stand for Dyl, but can we please do this?"

Dylan stood watching Ben, without moving. "What do you think Dad would say, Ben? What advice would he give us about Merle? Huh?"

Ben walked closer to him. "I don't know Dylan. You're the expert on what Dad would say or do. I just know what I would say and do. You don't thank a person for helping to save your life by packing up your stuff and leaving them in the dust. Sure, Merle isn't a cuddly little kitten, but maybe he's not so bad once you get to know him. If you want to argue and say I'm just a kid and I don't know anything then go ahead. You know I'm going to follow you wherever you go, Dyl. I'm just putting in my two cents. We are a team after all."

Dylan set his jaw. "You have to admit that Merle is a little scary."

Ben laughed suddenly. "A LITTLE scary? He's friggin enormous, badass, and then there's the one-handed thing. That would freak anybody out. I wonder how that happened."

Dylan raised an eyebrow. "I promise to spend the entire day looking for a crossbow if you ask him tonight."

Ben grinned. "So we're staying?"

"Just for the night," said Dylan. "But if I get any weird feelings, it's sayonara to Merle. You got it little brother?"

"Got it!" called Ben as he began walking back to the pub.

"Hey where are you goin'?" hollered Dylan.

"I'm helping Merle clean the bar. YOU have a crossbow to find," he said grinning before turning and running.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Dylan followed his brother back into the pub. He wasn't about to leave an eleven-year-old boy alone with a giant just so he could go scout for a crossbow. "Come here," said Dylan, grabbing Ben by the collar, just as the boy tried to enter the pubs back entrance. "Listen to me," Dylan whispered. "You can stay here with Merle but you will stay OUTSIDE of the pub on THIS side of the building so that I can look out and see you at all times, okay?"

Ben groaned. "How am I supposed to help him clean the pub from outside? With the powers of my mind?"

Dylan sighed. "Merle!"

The big man poked his head out the back door. "Yep?"

"Ben wants to help you with some stuff around here while I scout around the houses for awhile. You got anything that he can do outside? I want to be able to keep an eye on him," said Dylan.

"Shit, I got a bunch of things you can do Ben. You seem to handle that rifle pretty good. You know how to clean guns?" Merle asked.

Ben nodded. "Yes sir."

"Ain't no sirs around here, boy. Here," he said, coming out the door and extracting a black duffel bag that he had hidden earlier. "Take a look-see in there. Got a few fun things. And here," he said, handing Ben the sheath with his knife inside. "Why don't you sharpen up mine and Dylan's knives? I got a kit inside that bag for that too. I can do a lot of this myself but it takes me double the time with only one hand, ya know?"

Ben smiled and grabbed the duffel bag. He went over to a picnic table on the right side of the building facing the houses. Dylan couldn't help but smile at his brother's enthusiasm. He remembered his axe inside still attached to his backpack, so he snuck into the pub quickly to retrieve it. In the meantime, Merle got back to scrubbing the bar and floor with an old scrub brush and some dish detergent that he'd found.

Dylan laid the axe over his shoulder and watched the man work at the red stains. The muscles in his back were tensed as he exerted a lot of his effort. "Spit it out, kid," was all he said, his back still turned.

Dylan swallowed. "I just realized maybe I should be the one cleaning the bar. You know, since it was me that…"

"Nah," interrupted Merle. "You helped me clean up my mess. I can help with yours. Ain't nothing. I got this. You go on now."

Dylan nodded. "Thanks," he said, before exiting through the back. "Stay right where I can see you Ben," he said, as he walked by his brother on the way to the houses.

Ben was gleefully servicing the small arsenal in Merle's bag. He had two handguns: a petite yet powerful .38 and a formidable .357. He carefully laid them on the pine picnic table and admired their design. However, what got him really excited was a single shot rifle. It was stainless steel, with a walnut stock and falling-block action. "Gorgeous," he said quietly. He would always be loyal to his own repeater with the pump action, but Merle's rifle was still a thing of beauty to Ben.

He got to work, treating each weapon as if it were a dainty piece of fine china. Merle would occasionally poke his head out and check on the boy's progress. He'd nod to himself in approval before getting back inside.

Dylan's search of the houses produced a wealth of supplies. However, he didn't feel the need to grab much, as the pub would become pretty crowded if he took all of the items that he found to be valuable. Besides, if they ever needed anything, they'd be just a few quick steps away.

He entered the third house and noted a wealth of canned foods, all still well before their expiration dates. He grabbed a few cans of Spaghetti-O's with meatballs, his and Ben's favorite. He also took a can of chili, thinking perhaps Merle might enjoy it. However none of the cans were pop-tops like their soup from the night before, so he set out to find a manual can opener. He extracted one from the utensil drawer along with a ladle, a few forks, knives and spoons, and a spatula. Next, he acquired two small cooking pans and a frying pan.

Upstairs, he searched through the closet in the master bedroom, finding nothing of note. He did, however, grab a pillow and blanket for Merle. The master bath had some clean towels, which Dylan happily loaded into his bag. The second bedroom was clearly that of a teenaged boy. Dylan looked around the room. Despite the growing layers of dust, everything else was quite neat and clean. Dylan wondered what the circumstances were for the former occupants of the home. There were no family photos to speak of in any of the homes he searched; therefore he assumed they were some of the first to evacuate, taking all of their most valued family memories with them.

The lack of any human activity likely kept walkers away, thus keeping the abandoned little town safe from harm. Suddenly, Dylan remembered that he'd really wanted to search the school. However, the events of the early morning caused him to forget some of his objectives. He shrugged it off, thinking that, if all went well with Merle, perhaps the two of them could go search the school together the next day.

He sighed and turned to leave the boys room when something hung on the mirror caught his eye. There were three bronze medals, attached to thick satin ribbons. Dylan stepped close to them, running his fingers across each one. His eyes widened as he read what they were for. "No way," he said, grinning and running to the boy's closet. "Please, please still be in here," he said pushing clothing and shoes out of the way. He reached the back of the closet and smiled. When he saw the graphite carrying case, he knew he'd found it.


	6. Chapter 6

6

Hi there! Thank you for your wonderful comments and for reading. Quick note: the names of the village and town are fictional. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Have a great day!

Ben's eyes lit up as he watched Dylan walking back from the houses. His older sibling tried desperately to hide his grin, as he got closer. Ben had long since placed Merle's weapons carefully back in his duffel bag and was currently assisting the man in cleaning the barbecue grill. He stood up as Dylan laid his own bag on the picnic table, but kept something else slung over his shoulder.

Ben ran over to Dylan and looked at him expectantly. Dylan giggled as Ben tried to get behind his back but he kept swinging around, shielding the treasure from Ben. "Dyl!" Ben pleaded. "Come on. Let me see. Please?"

"So fun fact about the kid who used to live in the blue house. He was a nationally placed archery champion," said Dylan.

Ben's eyes lit up. "No freaking way!"

"Yes freaking way," said Dylan producing the graphite case to Ben. "Now don't be too disappointed. It's not a crossbow. It's a compound bow. But it's still quiet and just as cool if you ask me."

Ben's eyes glittered as he opened the case. It had all the toys: a beautiful bow with camouflage design, twelve aluminum arrows, a scope, a glove and numerous other accessories. "This is so cool Dyl!" he said, running his hands along the scalloped cable.

Merle had gotten up and observed the bow as it rested inside its case. "Mind if I take a look?" he asked.

"Sure," said Ben, smiling.

Merle extracted the weapon and turned it over in his hand. "Nice. It's a right-hander. How old are you, kid?" he asked Ben.

"Eleven."

"The boy who used this was probably a little older than you so the draw weight might be a bit off. But not so much that I'd be concerned. Ya look pretty hearty for your age, so it might end up being a pretty good match. Plus ya seem tall for only being eleven, so the draw length will probably be right on."

"You know about archery, Merle?" asked Ben, excitedly. "Can you work with me?"

"Eh, I think that can be arranged," said Merle. "I won't be much for shootin' that thing myself, though. You'd have to tape my stump to the grip. Plus, I'm a right-handed shooter, which, in most cases, requires actually havin' a right hand," he said chuckling and waving his stump. "But sure I can show ya a thing or two, kid."

Ben could hardly contain his excitement. "When can we start?"

"Well we could set up some targets on a couple of the trees and work in a little practice 'fore we eat dinner," offered Merle.

"Speaking of," said Dylan, going to his bag. "Gourmet at its best," he said, tossing the Spaghetti-O's and the chili cans to Ben.

"Nice," said Ben. "This day didn't turn out so bad. Well, I mean besides almost being killed by three psychos, then killing them and then burning their bodies in a big pit. Other than that, not a bad day at all."

Merle chuckled. "That's the right attitude kiddo."

Dylan lightly punched Ben. "Hey," he said, his face serious. "Don't make light of it Ben."

Ben looked down. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Eh, it's alright Dylan. Your brother's just tryin' to inject a little humor into an otherwise shitty-ass situation. We all need a little of that. Keeps ya from goin' batty. Trust me, I know," said Merle.

Dylan and Ben cocked their heads to the side in confusion. Merle chuckled. "Well it wasn't that hard to figure out ya'll were related. And brothers are 'bout the easiest to spot."

Dylan observed Merle quietly for a moment. "Are you speaking from experience?" he asked.

Merle looked down at the ground, his eyes darting between his two feet, thinking of some faraway place in a different time. "Just know a little 'bout a lot is all," he said quietly.

Dylan swallowed, reluctant to push Merle any further on the topic. He looked up at the sky and judged it to be late morning. "Hey Merle, I was thinking of maybe going to check out the school."

"Yeah?" asked Merle.

"Yeah," said Dylan. "It's all chained up. I mean, it could be nothing but…"

"But you're thinking that every former resident of this nice lil town could be locked up inside, ready to eat anything that moves?" asked Merle.

Dylan shrugged. "I mean I hope that's not the case, but I'd feel better knowing for sure before we settle in for another night here."

Merle grinned and picked up his .38, noting that Ben had already loaded it for him. He tucked it into the front of his jeans. "Well I'm game." He then grabbed the .357 before nodding to the rifle. "The single shot's good for deer. Not all that effective with walkers."

Ben giggled. "Yeah its not like you can ask them to wait a minute while you re-load, right?"

Merle chuckled. "I like your style of humor kid."

Dylan threw his axe over his shoulder and extracted a flashlight from his bag. "Ben you stay close and remember, no firing unless you absolutely have to."

"Okay," said Ben, picking up his rifle.

"Let's go see what we can see," said Merle, as they set off for the school.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

"Hmmm," started Merle, as he fingered the large coiled chain at the front entrance. "I wouldn't suggest breakin' the chain. Might need it later. But," he said, reaching into the inside pocket of his leather vest. He extracted a small plastic folding case. "If I pick the lock we got a guaranteed in."

Ben and Dylan watched, enrapt as Merle opened the case revealing several different picks of varying size and head shape. "Standard padlock," said Merle, as he removed one of the picks. "No combination option so this shouldn't be too bad. Dylan, just keep a hold of it for me, will ya?"

Dylan obeyed, holding the lock steady for Merle as the man got to work, gently teasing at the upper and lower pins inside the lock. "Gotta treat it like a woman," said Merle. "Yep, with a little patience, flirtation, and a light touch, she should…" Ben and Dylan heard the bolt separate. Merle grinned devilishly. "She should open right up."

Dylan and Ben smiled. "Good going Merle," said Ben. "Can you teach me to do that too?"

"I don't see why not," said Merle, removing the padlock and placing it in his jeans pocket.

Dylan carefully uncoiled the chain and laid it on the front steps of the school. He picked up his axe and exhaled. "We ready for this?" Ben looked wary while Merle just flashed a grin.

The three were met with a burst of stale air as they quietly entered the school. Dylan was hopeful that the search would confirm their safety within the town. There was one main floor to search, along with a basement. His right hand tightened around the handle of his axe in tension.

The trio stayed close together throughout each classroom, closet, bathroom and office. Satisfied that the main floor was clear, it was time to go down to the basement. Merle had to once again pick the lock to the sublevel. Once the lock surrendered to him, he turned to the boys and gave hand signals indicating that he would enter first, followed by Dylan. Ben was instructed to stay at the top of the stairs. Everyone silently agreed before Merle and Dylan descended down the stairs.

Dylan was thankful for concrete steps, as wooden planks would have given any basement walker's clear warning of the presence of humans. As they got closer to the bottom of the stairs, the darkness began to close in around them with a cold, suffocating embrace. Merle tapped Dylan, letting him know he needed the illumination of the flashlight. Dylan clicked on his heavy black Maglite, moving slowly around the walls and floor of the large basement. He was on pins and needles as he moved the flashlight around, certain that with each turn, he'd shine his light upon a hideous, undead face. Or worse, MORE than one hideous, undead face. He saw a flash of movement ahead of him and jumped, only to see a small group of rats scurry for a darker corner. Merle stifled a giggle.

They pressed on, past a large water heater and furnace, where they arrived at an impressive tool cabinet, which was stocked to the hilt. Merle placed his .357 on the top of the cabinet and looked admiringly at the contents of the cabinet. He nodded in approval at Dylan. The tools would be quite useful indeed.

Their final destination was the janitor's office, at the very back of the basement area. The metal door was covered in chipped orange paint and something that made Dylan and Merle gulp. The Maglite revealed horrifying words, spelled out clearly with black spray paint. "Caution: Infected".

"Shit," whispered Merle.

"Now what?" asked Dylan.

Merle shook his head and shrugged before walking up to the door. He looked back at Dylan and cringed as he rapped his left knuckles on the metal barrier. In response, something large slammed against the door. Dylan and Merle both retreated several steps before it slammed into the door again before roaring madly.

Merle and Dylan listened intently. "Got a bit of a crazy idea kid," said Merle.

"Does it in any way involve me and you opening that door and disposing of whatever is behind it?" asked Dylan. "And before you answer can you please consider that there may be more than one rabid son of a bitch living in there?"

Merle sighed. "Well, it's only an office. How the hell many dead bastards you think could fit in there? Ain't no clown car."

"Okay well it's also pitch black in here. I'm good at multitasking but I'm not sure of my skills with holding a flashlight, swinging an axe and not dying simultaneously," said Dylan.

Merle looked to the staircase. "We've got another set of hands upstairs. He could provide us with enough light."

Dylan shook his head. "What? Ben? No way, he is NOT coming down here. Not a chance. Merle, we have no idea what's in that office."

"See that's the thing," said Merle. "Now that we know there's SOMETHIN' in there, neither of us is gonna sleep. The rest of this town is squeaky clean. All we got to worry about now is behind this door. I say we eliminate the threat now. Beats lookin' over our shoulders at every turn. We got enough shit to worry about."

"What are the chances that whatever is back there would escape?" asked Dylan. "It's locked up better than Fort Knox in here."

Merle offered Dylan an expression that the young man fully understood. They could argue all day long, but the truth was clear. The threat would need to be extinguished, no matter how many doors or chains stood in its way. A big part of him agreed with Merle, but he didn't want to risk putting Ben in harm's way. He looked down at the floor before going to the bottom of the stairs. "Hey Ben. Come on down. We need you."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Ben cringed as the thing behind the door slammed into it so hard that the frame actually began to pull away from the wall. He held the flashlight firmly in his hands. His rifle lay next to him on the ground.

"Why is it so strong?" asked Dylan. "Most of them just lumber around like they're drunk."

"Probably just starvin'," said Merle. "Maybe the need to feed is givin' it a little pep in its step."

Dylan turned to Ben. "Just keep the lights on it. Or them, depending on what's in there, okay?" asked Dylan, looking at Ben with trepidation in his eyes. Ben knew Dylan wasn't fearful for his own safety. Rather it was Ben he was most concerned about.

Merle had found a large screwdriver, as the trio was still insistent upon not firing their guns. "Don't think I'm gonna have to pick that lock," he said, nodding to the door. One more good body slam and whatever's back there will be free to come right at us." He looked at Dylan's axe. "You pretty effective with that thing?"

"He's freaking scary with that thing," said Ben.

Merle nodded. "Alright then. Let's see ya put it to good use."

Dylan waited with his axe raised, listening to the rasps and groans behind the door, the outcries of a ravenous and frustrated beast. He imagined a large bull behind the door; ring in its nose, snorting wildly at a taunting, arrogant matador. Dylan decided to wave the red cape. "Come on asshole!" he yelled. "Come on! Hungry? Got a frigging buffet out here! You want an engraved invitation? Let's go!"

The sound of wood and drywall giving way pierced the air, as a starving male walker separated the door from the wall and went careening towards Merle. The man executed a kick to the beast's midsection, making it stumble backwards. It quickly recovered and turned its attentions on Dylan, its cloudy eyes wide with excitement for his impending meal. Each snap of his jaws sent the stench of rancid breath into the air. Dylan wasted no time bringing the axe down upon its skull. The creature fell to its knees before landing flat on its face when Dylan removed the axe blade.

Ben continued to shine the light upon the door while Dylan and Merle remained poised for action. All that could be heard was the rapid breaths of all the humans in the room. Merle dropped his screwdriver and went to Ben. "Lemme take that kid," he said reaching for the flashlight. " I ain't havin' you getting' any closer."

Ben handed over the flashlight and Merle paced back to Dylan. "I'm gonna take a quick peek. If anything pops out at me, I'll give it a good whack with the light and you take care of the rest. Got it?"

"Got it," said Dylan, fingers wrapped tightly around the axe handle.

Merle took a deep breath before peering into the small office. Dylan watched the light move around through the torn doorframe and held his breath. He finally exhaled when Merle emerged. "Nuttin' honey. This ugly son of a bitch was the only one in there."

Merle took the flashlight and did one final sweep of the basement just to quell any doubts he may have had. Once satisfied that there had been only one walker in the basement, the three of them converged upon the body. Merle turned the man over. "Was he even the janitor?" asked Ben. "I don't see a uniform or a name tag or anything."

"My guess is he was the only infected in the town. Maybe they locked him up, hoping they'd find a cure. When they evacuated, maybe they forgot him or just didn't have the heart to kill him," said Merle.

"Or maybe they wanted to see how long he could survive without food," said Dylan.

"Could be," said Merle. "Don't matter now. He ain't a problem no more."

Dylan looked at the grey, scabby face of the man on the cement floor. Something didn't feel right to him. He'd killed plenty of walkers before, out in the woods and near the city. However this walker was different. Someone had taken the time to lock him up. Someone didn't have it in them to kill him. Dylan imagined the man being bitten and put in the office for his own safety. He thought of him dying a slow death of pain and fever…alone and scared in some basement.

This one was just different. Dylan never wondered what lives other walkers had before the sickness spread. This man, however, made him wonder all manner of things. Did he have kids? A wife? Was his son the archery champion? Did he work at the pub or the barbershop? The questions filled his mind and hummed in his ears like a radio station with poor reception. He thought of Ben. If Ben had the misfortune of becoming infected, Dylan wouldn't want him to be taken down like a rabid animal, with no regard to the person he was before. "Hey Merle, can I see the light for a minute?"

Merle handed it to him. Dylan slowly entered the office and shined the light upon the walls. He smiled. Merle had been focused on looking for other walkers in the office so he probably never noticed what was right before Dylan's eyes now. There were tons of glossy family photos taped to the walls, showing the basement walker as a man with a wife and two small daughters. There were also crayon drawings presumably from both little girls. Some said, "I love you Daddy".

Dylan felt Merle and Ben enter the office, their eyes glued to the photos and drawings as well. "I'll be damned," said Merle. "Poor bastard."

Dylan cocked his head to the side when he saw a small white envelope taped to the wall. He removed it and extracted a letter, written neatly on lined paper. He read it aloud:

_My name is William Munroe. Most people call me Bill. I live here in Argent, which is actually a small village within the larger town of Sheldon. I've lived here all my life. I married my high school sweetheart; Elizabeth and we had two beautiful daughters named Jessica and Melissa. We also had a spastic but loveable bloodhound named Columbo (yes, as in the detective)._

_My family owned most of the village, as they settled here many years ago. It's always been a wonderful place to be and I can't imagine living anywhere else. _

_I am the last of my people. A raging virus flew through here in May, killing off some of the residents with a terrible fever. However, their deaths were only the beginning of what has been hell on Earth. Those that died came back, but they weren't the people we knew. My friends, my neighbors and eventually even my beautiful wife and daughters were transformed into something out of a horror movie. Those of us who managed to stay healthy were forced to dispose of the dead. _

_It wasn't easy at first. It took us awhile before we figured out that it was necessary to destroy the brain in order to kill them. Once we did, there were just a few of us left to fight. And fight we did. We fought until our bodies and minds were exhausted. We never saw the military around here, or in Sheldon for that matter. Our town is so small that it probably got overlooked on the map._

_We buried our dead in the small field behind Joe Marshall's property. (His house is the old mustard yellow one). Each person got buried with their family photos and other special items. No sense in keeping those things in our homes, just collecting dust. This morning I was bitten as we loaded bodies for burial. One of our people was not dead, and when I went to lift her, she got me in my forearm._

_My two remaining neighbors helped me down to this basement. They didn't have the heart to shoot me before I turned into one of those creatures. They locked me in the building and fled to Atlanta, where there are rumors of a cure at the CDC. They promised to return if they are able to find a cure. I brought along pictures of my family to keep me company while the fever burns through me. I already feel the changes coming on. Death is pulling me into the darkness._

_Please know that I did my best by my family and friends. I believe that I always tried to be a good man and I was not the creature you found in this office. I hope I did not hurt you and that my death was quick. _

_If you see my boy Columbo, treat him kindly. He's a good dog. He stayed with me until the end. I pray he is still alive and well._

_If you find it in your heart, I'd like to be buried in the field with my people. This was once a beautiful village. Maybe by the time you're reading this letter, the worst is over and the human race can start new lives. If that's the case, I hope you will stay and make Argent your home. Good luck to you and God bless._

_William H. Munroe_

Dylan, Ben and Merle sat in silence for a few moments. Merle cleared his throat and looked over the body of Bill Munroe. "We've got one more grave to dig today, boys," was all he said, before lifting Bill into his arms and moving towards the staircase.

Ben and Dylan exchanged knowing looks before quickly removing all of the photos and pictures from the wall. Ben held them to his chest, his eyes moist. Dylan placed Bill's letter into his front pocket. "Come on," he said softly.

As they exited the basement, Dylan experienced contradictory emotions. He was glad that he found out the origins and history of the little village. However, the fantasy he'd had in his head about all of Argent's residents evacuating to a safer place was lost, leaving only harsh, cold reality in its place. He suddenly felt silly thinking that everyone in the little village escaped unscathed.

It was just after two in the afternoon when Merle placed Bill's body in the ground. It was impossible to tell which grave belonged to the man's wife and girls, as there had been no time to mark any of the graves. Ben placed Bill's family photos and his children's drawings by his side, choosing to keep one. "We'll put it up in the pub as a memorial," he said, holding on to the photo tightly.

Dylan swallowed hard, thinking that the only keepsake he had of his own father was the man's gun. All of his family photos were saved in a useless cell phone that had died long ago. He wished he'd had something besides his memories to remind him of his parents and siblings.

However, as he looked into Ben's large grey eyes, he saw it. Ben was always the perfect combination of both of his parents in looks as well as personality. Dylan suddenly smiled. He had more than a picture or a letter. He had a living, breathing manifestation of his parents in the form of his baby brother…a brother that he'd gladly die to protect. And one who reminded him what it was like to be human. Dylan realized that he didn't have to worry about losing his humanity, as Ben would be the one reason for him to hold on to it with all of his might. It gave Dylan joy just knowing that.

They covered William Munroe with dirt, and stood together, reciting their family prayer over his grave. Merle stood close by and studied the two boys, feeling a deep longing for the connection that could only be felt among brothers.


	7. Chapter 7

7

*Taking a break from the action so everyone can get to know each other. Thank you for reading!

Ben found a pen behind the bar and wrote Bill's name, along with the names of his wife and daughters and, of course, Columbo. It was because of Columbo's presence in the picture that Ben chose to keep that one particular photo. It presented the Munroe family in its entirety.

The Murray's had a Springer Spaniel named Tucket, who was so named because he was found wandering around the beach on Nantucket, where the family vacationed one summer. Ben was only two years old when they found Tucket, so he felt that he grew up along with the dog, who was just a puppy himself when he came to live with the Murrays. Tucket passed away just three months before the Murray's were set to leave for Florida. Ben missed the dog terribly and secretly hoped that Columbo would magically appear back in Argent, excited to have a new family.

He taped the picture behind the bar and gazed at it, thinking of all the families that had been ripped apart in recent months. It made him think about Merle and why he was alone. Ben saw his reaction when Dylan asked him about brothers earlier in the day. He would make it a point to try to get to know Merle much better during dinner and after it got dark. He hoped the man would be willing to open up, at least a little.

Ben was shaken from his reverie by Merle, who poked his head into the pub and called him to dinner. When he arrived outside, he saw that Dylan was already digging into his portion of Spaghetti-O's, which Merle had heated up using the barbecue grill. "Here ya go, kid," said Merle, handing him a bowl. Ben marveled at the steam coming off his food. It had been so long since he'd eaten a hot meal.

They all sat at the picnic table, trying to not eat too fast in order to savor their meals. Dylan chuckled at Ben, who had always made it a habit of eating around the meatballs so that he could save them for last. Merle cracked open a soda that he got from the general store earlier. He took a long drink from the can before returning to his chili. Dylan was glad that he liked the chili, as he had picked it out for Merle earlier. He was continually amazed by how well Merle adapted to having only one hand. He was resilient and strong, much like Liam Murray once was.

Dylan kicked Ben under the table and nodded to Merle. Ben paled. He remembered he had made a deal with Dylan earlier in the day regarding Merle's missing hand. It was so easy for him to agree to inquire about the hand earlier, when the daunting task was still hours away. He gulped. "Merle?"

The man didn't look up from his bowl. "Yep?"

"I have to ask you something."

"I promise ya we'll start practicin' with your new bow tomorrow. Today was a little too action packed for my taste."

"No, it's not that," said Ben.

"Okay. Ask away then," said Merle.

Ben remained silent for a few moments, as Dylan looked at his little brother expectantly.

"Ya gonna ask 'bout my hand or not?" Merle asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dylan stifled a chuckle. He cleared his throat to mask his laughter. Ben squirmed in his seat. "Um," started Ben, before exhaling. "So…how…did…you…lose…?" he started.

"It's a rough story, kid. Don't know if ya want to hear it. Might give ya nightmares," said Merle.

Ben puffed his chest, trying to appear brave. "I'll, I'll be okay. Please Merle?"

"Well alright. Don't say I didn't warn ya." He turned towards Ben, his expression one of animation. "I was at the zoo one day maybe ten years ago. Man it was a hot one that day I tell you what. And crowded! I ain't seen so many people in one place besides when we was evacuating. Anyways, I'm at the gorilla exhibit and see this little girl, maybe four or five years old, teetering right on top of the barrier before she fell right into the gorilla exhibit!"

Ben's eyes were wide with horror. "Oh my God! What happened to her?"

"Well she woulda been gorilla food if I didn't jump into the dang exhibit after her," said Merle.

"You JUMPED INTO the gorilla exhibit? Holy crap!" exclaimed Ben.

"I sure did, hell anybody woulda to save a little girl, right? Anyways I get in the gorilla area and grab the little girl and toss her back up to her pa. Well, just as I'm tryin' to climb back out myself, the biggest of them sumbitches comes charging at me, knocks me to the ground, and gets right on top of me!" said Merle. "That thing must've weighed a dang ton!"

"No way!" said Ben, grey eyes full of concern. "What did you do?"

"Well, after I saw my whole life flash before my eyes, I took my right hand and socked him right in his mouth. Twice," said Merle, making a punching motion with his right arm. "He didn't like that much, because when I went to clock him the third time, that bastard got hold of my hand and bit it clean off!"

Ben gasped. "What? He BIT IT OFF?"

"Hey I'd rather it be my hand than my head, you know what I'm sayin'?" asked Merle.

"So what happened after that?" asked Ben, at the edge of his seat.

"Well he took off with my hand in his mouth and ran over under some trees. The zoo staff helped me out and got an ambulance. The zookeeper tried his best to get the hand back but that rat bastard wouldn't give it up," said Merle, shaking his head.

"God Merle that's awful," said Ben, looking at the stump sympathetically. "That really sucks."

"Yeah," said Merle. "I'll never forget that big daddy gorilla watchin' me as they loaded me up into the ambulance. He just sat there, waving at me with my own hand. What an asshole."

There was dead silence for a few moments before Dylan began to shake with laughter. He pounded the table and laughed so hard that he got tears in his eyes. Merle took one look at Dylan and began to laugh uncontrollably as well. The two sat there howling and holding their stomachs while Ben looked on, very confused. "Wait, what the heck are you two laughing at?"

Merle leaned back and guffawed.

"He's just telling tall tales Ben," said Dylan, still giggling. "Although don't feel bad. He had me believing that story right up until he said the gorilla waved at him with his own hand." The comment made Merle and Dylan crack up all over again.

Ben pouted for a moment before he started to giggle himself. "You could've just told me to mind my business," he said, chuckling.

Merle patted Ben on the back. "Eh, you don't wanna hear the real story. The day I lost my hand was one of the shittiest days of my life. Maybe someday I'll tell ya but not now." He turned back to his chili and took a big spoonful.

"Why are you alone?" Dylan blurted out. Merle looked up at him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…well I just meant did you lose anybody? Did you have a family?"

Merle looked down at his chili. He cleared his throat. "I had family. No wife or kids and all that but I had…someone."

Ben and Dylan exchanged glances. Dylan wanted to push further but he was afraid of upsetting Merle enough to where the man might shut down completely. He had taken notice of the way Merle looked at him and Ben when they buried Bill. He looked like he was sad. Like he was missing someone terribly. In fact, Dylan had noticed Merle giving him and Ben that same look more than once. Dylan took a deep breath. "Who was it?"

Merle continued to chew his food and shot Dylan a look to let him know that the topic was off limits for the time being. Dylan picked up his spoon and resumed his meal.

"Tell me somethin'," said Merle, dropping his spoon and rubbing Ben's nearly bald head. "What's with the GI Joe thing ya'll got goin' on? Ya'll loot an Army Navy store?"

Dylan shrugged and looked over at Ben before responding. "The Georgia summers suck. We started shaving our heads because of the heat. The camo's just good for hiding."

"Ain't summer no more," said Merle. "And it looks to me like ya'll both just shaved recently. What's the real reason, baldy?"

Dylan was reluctant to share when Merle was being so guarded. His eyes turned downward as Ben spoke. "Our dad was a Navy SEAL. He always kept his hair real short, like yours is. Our brother was Navy too. Dylan was going to enlist in a couple of years. We just keep our hair like that to remember our dad and brother. You know, keep the military tradition going, I guess."

Dylan was surprised by Ben's frank manner of speaking. He locked eyes with Merle before the man looked down. "I was Army. Years ago."

Dylan perked up. "You were? How long did you serve?"

"Eight years," said Merle.

"Did you see action?" asked Dylan.

"Desert Storm," said Merle. "Ya'll weren't even born yet."

"Why'd you leave?" asked Ben.

Merle took another sip of soda. He placed the empty can back on the table. "Made a lotta bad choices. Got into trouble."

"What kind of trouble?" Dylan asked.

"Drugs," said Merle.

"Oh," said Dylan, looking away. "Are you still-?"

"Nope," said Merle. "Haven't had anything stronger than aspirin and the occasional whiskey in my system in a good long while, don't ya'll worry. I don't plan on gettin' back into old habits. Caused me nothin' but heartache."

Dylan looked back at him. 'That's good to hear, Merle. I'm glad."

The three of them cleaned up their dinner. Ben washed the bowls and spoons in the utility sink. Later, the brothers grabbed the old football and threw it around behind the pub while Merle did his best to find something that would effectively cover the pubs two windows. He was able to secure some plywood that had been placed against the back of the general store. Dylan and Ben helped him hammer in the pieces, always doing their best to be quiet.

With the windows now blocked, the three were safe to light a few candles while they prepared for bed. Ben sat on a barstool next to Dylan, while Merle preferred the comfort of the pub's chairs. He sat in one and pulled another close so he could put his feet up. He lit a cigar and looked off into the distance at nothing in particular. Dylan watched him as he got this faraway look. He thought perhaps the man was thinking about the person he'd mentioned briefly at dinner. However, when he spoke, he realized that Merle was actually thinking about the Murrays. "When did you lose your Dad and brother?" he asked, softly.

Dylan bit his lower lip. "A month ago. We lost our mom and sister too."

"How?" Merle asked.

Dylan went to speak but he suddenly choked on his own words. He couldn't say it out loud. He never had to before. His avoidance of others had helped him to build a protective wall. It was just so easy keeping people at arms length. At that moment he felt bad for asking Merle so bluntly why he was alone, and for being upset that the man didn't answer. He looked to Ben, who also remained quiet.

"It's okay," said Merle. "For another time."

"Hey Merle?" started Dylan.

Merle exhaled a billow of smoke. "Uh huh?"

"After what happened this morning… with that guy Nicky. You said it gets easier. Is that true or were you just trying to make me feel better?" asked Dylan.

Merle observed Dylan briefly. "You and your brother have a strong survival instinct. Ya just have to if ya really wanna make it in this world. Dylan, ya knew what ya had to do today in order for you and Ben to make it another day. Ya knew. Ya understood. Don't mean you're a killer just because ya had to kill. Sometimes ya have to do things ya don't want to do in order to protect what's yours. So…yeah it does get easier 'cause ya come to terms with that over time. I promise."

The three sat in silence. Dylan and Ben enjoyed the smell of Merle's cigar. The crickets were quieter than they were the night before. Dylan suspected it was because the air seemed a bit cooler. He and Ben both preferred the cooler weather, especially because it reminded them of home. As if reading Dylan's mind, Merle asked, "Where ya'll from anyway? Ya don't have southern accents."

"New Hampshire," said Ben.

"New Hampshire, huh?" asked Merle. "Fancy…Yankee bastards."

Dylan and Ben laughed.

Merle smiled. "Why were ya in Georgia?"

"We were on vacation. We went to Disney in Orlando and we were on our way back home when the shit hit the fan," said Dylan.

"Some vacation," said Merle. "Well at least one good thing is no more homework, ey kid?" he asked Ben.

"Nah," said Ben. "I'd give my right arm to be in a world that had homework. It would mean things were back to normal."

"Don't be so quick to give up appendages," said Merle, giggling and waving his stump. "Ain't all that easy to get used to."

"You do pretty well," said Dylan. "I saw you take out two guys in less than a minute one-handed, then prepare dinner for three people. I think you're set."

"I do my best," said Merle, suddenly getting that faraway look again. "Well," he said, extinguishing his cigar. "My eyes are closin' on me. I'm gonna hit the hay."

"Us too," said Dylan, playfully rubbing Ben's head. "Come on, little man."

The brothers blew out the candles and joined Merle on the floor. The man lay on his back, his left hand behind his head. Dylan went through a mental list of precautions such as bolting both doors and making sure his father's gun was right by his side. Once satisfied that he'd done those tasks, he felt confident enough to relax. The lids of his eyes began to close as the buzz of sleep began to take hold.

Eight hours later, Dylan's eyes slipped open. He looked over at Ben and Merle in the dim light. Merle's blankets were a mass of tangles, indicating a fitful sleep. He stirred and said something inaudible. Dylan sat up and listened intently. He was breathing rapidly, maybe having a nightmare. Was he saying a name? Dylan perked his ears, thinking at first that Merle was saying his name. "D-D-Da…"

Dylan was sure he was trying to say his name. "Merle," he called out. "I'm right here. You're dreaming. Merle wake up."

"No!" the man suddenly called out in his sleep. "Goddamit no, don't, don't…" He abruptly sat up, breathing heavily. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and looked over at Dylan.

"Merle, you okay?" asked Dylan.

"Yeah," he said breathlessly. "Just havin' a dream. That's all."

"Are you sure? It sounded like…" started Dylan.

"Shit, I'm fine Daryl. I'm fine dammit." Merle pulled the covers off his legs, stood up and stumbled to the utility sink as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. He rinsed his face with the cool water.

Dylan gulped. _Daryl?_

Ben opened his eyes and stretched. He looked over at Dylan, who was watching Merle from the floor, a look of concern painting his features. "What's up? What did I miss?"


	8. Chapter 8

8

Hi there! Thank you for reading and also for the comments. One more chapter to go before the two groups collide!

Days had turned into weeks and winter was closing in upon the little village of Argent. Merle, Dylan and Ben were able to secure warm winter attire from the houses. Everything Ben wore was usually a little too big for him, but it was preferable to the opposite. The Murray boys felt right at home putting on thermal shirts and heavy socks. Merle, on the other hand, spent much of his time complaining about the cold and it's effects on his joints. This was usually met with a wealth of jokes regarding Merle's age.

Throughout Fall, the trio used their available resources to secure the village from outsiders, both human and walker alike. The pub was their base camp, as it was the safest building in the village. They rearranged the furniture for a cozier feel and converted the bar area into a makeshift kitchen. The real draw of the pub was the wood-burning stove that had been installed more for ambience for the pub's former patrons. A heat loving Merle would park there on especially cold evenings and puff his cigar contentedly.

The pub also boasted the best vantage point of any other building in the village. With its flat roof, one could sit atop and enjoy an excellent view in every direction. On days when they would stay in camp, someone was assigned to a watch. However, watches weren't instituted at night, as the three preferred to stay in the pub together. If one person left Argent for any reason, then they all did. With only three of them, it wasn't feasible to split up at any point.

That philosophy was what helped Merle, Dylan and Ben establish such a tight bond. They spent every waking moment with one another. Fortunately, they enjoyed each other's company so much. However, there were times when Dylan and Ben would have the normal and inevitable brother's quarrel, which usually ended once Merle threatened to throw a bucket of water over their heads so they'd cool off.

For the most part, Argent was quiet and sleepy. The more noteworthy visits to the town were from the animal kingdom. With Georgia being one of the most diverse states for wildlife, there was no lack of exciting visitors. Red and grey foxes were a common sighting, as were white-tailed deer. In fact, it wasn't unusual to wake up and see twenty to thirty deer milling around just outside of the pub's back door. Coyotes also made their way into Argent, along with screech owls, turkeys, brown bats and woodchucks, to only name a few. Despite the wealth of varying species roaming around just outside their door, everyone agreed not to hunt in Argent, as they enjoyed the visits and didn't want to scare the animals away from the area for good.

The group developed their own routine as well. In the early mornings, Dylan and Ben would train just as they did with their father, while Merle would prepare a light breakfast and coffee. At first, Ben wasn't wild about the bitter tasting drink, but eventually he'd come to look forward to that first cup in the morning. Next they'd wash and brush teeth.

Then it was time for any chores that needed to be attended to, along with one person taking watch on the pub's roof. Clothing was washed in the utility sink, walker alarms were maintained and wood was chopped. Next, a two-person walk around the perimeter to check for anything unusual that may not been seen through the eyes of the person on watch. Then there was lunch, followed by anything from leisure time and naps to hunting or scouting nearby. Mostly, it was simple leisure time, however, as Argent provided the three of them with everything they needed.

Of course, with the world being in the state it was in, the occasional walker needed to be dispatched, which is just what Merle and Dylan set out to do one morning after Ben spotted four of them bumbling their way into the graveyard.

Merle chuckled as he saw one female walker who was dressed in nothing but a pair of underwear with no top. Her nose appeared to have been bitten off at some point, leaving a dark, purplish circle in the middle of her face. "Now there's a girlfriend for ya Dyl. Put a comb through her hair and she ain't so bad. Plus judgin' by the outfit she's got on, you can bet she's a sure thing."

Dylan rolled his eyes. "Okay fine Merle, I'll take her and you can have Betty White over there," he said nodding to an elderly female walker.

Merle clucked. "Look at this rag tag crew, huh? This'll be like shootin' fish in a barrel."

Merle was right. The team of walkers coming towards them seemed rather weak and sluggish, save for one obese male who moved a bit faster and had venom in his eyes. It would be more of an aggravation to dispose of the four bodies than anything else.

Merle, armed with his newest favorite weapon, a fire poker, whacked it against his boot as he taunted the slowly approaching walkers. "Come on, Blondie," he said to the topless walker. "That's quite the getup. Ain't ya supposed to leave somethin' up to the imagination darlin'?"

She raised her arms in excitement as she got closer to Merle. She frothed at the mouth and gurgled when she reached him. "Think she likes you," said Dylan, raising his axe and slamming it into the head of the large male walker.

Merle expertly slid the poker through her eye. As he extracted the iron weapon, he looked down at her and sighed, saying, "Damn shame. She was probably a looker 'fore she died. And a little trampy, which, I ain't ashamed to admit, I kinda like."

Dylan giggled as he took care of the third walker, the elderly woman, who wouldn't have been much of a biter, as her lower jaw was missing. Dylan looked sheepish. "I'm almost embarrassed for us. This is too easy, like we're on the apocalypse version of Bloopers and Practical Jokes."

"Yeah," said Merle, watching the fourth walker, an armless male with a giant hole from buckshot in his abdomen. He slinked his way across the graveyard, with a stupefied expression. He fell over, face first into the dirt. It was excruciating to watch him try to get back up without the luxury of arms. He looked like a wind up toy that had fallen over, still twitching and lurching. "Christ, this is just painful to watch. I'd have to wait all day for him to come to me," said Merle, stalking over to the pathetic creature. He turned him over and pierced his right eye with the poker. The walker ceased its movements and lay there, mouth still agape.

Dylan sidled next to Merle and they looked down at the pitiful thing. "Do you think it's the weather?" asked Dylan.

"What?" asked Merle.

"You know because it's cold out. Do you think that's affecting them somehow?" asked Dylan.

Merle shrugged. "It's possible. The cold might slow 'em down a lot."

"If that's the case then they must be slowed to a complete stop up in New Hampshire. It's ten times colder up there this time of year," said Dylan. "I mean, with the snow and all that, they're probably all frozen." Then he cringed.

"What now?" asked Merle.

"I just got a vision in my head of the Spring thaw. A bunch of unfrozen walkers waking up and ready to eat," said Dylan. "But they've probably lost limbs from the frostbite, and…"

"Christ Daryl, ya think I need my stomach turned so close to lunch? Just get the dang wheelbarrow, will ya?" hollered Merle.

"Dylan," said Dylan quietly. He held his axe over his shoulder and watched the man intently.

"What?" asked Merle, exasperated.

"My name's Dylan."

Merle ran his fingers through his hair, looking thoroughly confused. "Thanks dummy I think I had that one figured out for quite some time now."

"Well I just thought I'd remind you that my name was Dylan because you keep calling me Daryl," said Dylan, his eyes soft and sympathetic. "You did it to Ben the other day too, when you tripped over his boots."

Merle looked at Dylan in such a way that the young man couldn't tell if he was going to punch him in the face or burst into tears. "Fine," said Merle. "I'll get the damn wheelbarrow."

Dylan stepped in his way. "No Merle, don't go storming off." He grabbed the large man's arm when he tried once again to pass. "Merle, listen. We know each other well enough now. We work every day to keep the three of us alive. We're like family now."

Merle offered Dylan a steely gaze before turning his eyes downward.

Dylan continued. "Look, I know I haven't exactly over-shared when it comes to what happened to my parents and sister and brother. I wasn't sure if I could trust you at first because…God," said Dylan, trying desperately to say it out loud. "I owe it to you to tell you because you've been so good to me and Ben and I know I can't expect you to share something personal about yourself if we don't do the same."

"So what are ya proposin' we do about that?" asked Merle.

Dylan placed his axe on the ground and proceeded to tell Merle everything that had happened to his and Ben's family. It was like torture having to recount what had happened, especially since Dylan had never told the tale before.

Merle soaked in every horrifying detail, staying quiet while Dylan poured his heart out. When he finished speaking, his eyes were rimmed red as he wiped tears away. Merle patted him on the shoulder, knowing nothing he said could take the pain away from the young man. However, he did understand that Dylan made an incredible effort that needed some form of reciprocation.

Merle sat down in the grass and Dylan went beside him. He looked at his large black boots. "I ain't much for tellin' stories. But you can ask me anything."

"Who's Daryl?" asked Dylan.

"My brother," said Merle. "My only brother."

"Younger or older?" asked Dylan.

"Younger," said Merle. Then he smiled. "It's funny, I always think of Daryl as a kid, 'cause I'm older, but he's gettin' close to forty years old now. If he's still alive, God willin'."

"You don't know if he's alive? What happened?" asked Dylan.

Merle sighed. "Well, after shit went down, Daryl and I took up with a big camp of people just outside of Atlanta for a time. Everythin' was pretty much status quo. Well for a zombie apocalypse anyway. Daryl would hunt mostly. He'd wrangle up squirrels, sometimes deer. Kept the camp fed. He's a beast with a crossbow, I tell you what. And man, can he track! I wouldn't admit it in front of him, but he's way better than me at it." He looked at Dylan and chuckled. "Anyways, one day I decide to join a group to go on a scout in the city. Usually only one guy from our group, a Chinaman named Glenn, would…"

"Wait, did just actually refer to someone as a Chinaman?" asked Dylan, trying not to laugh.

"What? Oh big deal," said Merle, shaking his head. "He was one of those chinky winky guys, I don't know. His eyes were slanty, that's all I know."

Dylan giggled. "Ah Merle, always so politically correct. Go on."

"Anyways, this guy Glenn would usually go scout in the city by himself and this was the first time he was takin' along a group. I figured I'd go, what the hell right? Daryl had been out on a hunt for two days and I was about bored outta my mind just sittin' around camp so I went along," said Merle. "So we get to the city without a hitch, thanks to the China—thanks to Glenn. He was pretty smart, but ain't all those yellows supposed to be?"

Dylan scratched his head. "It's like talking to Archie Bunker," he said, chuckling. "Okay so the smart, Asian, probably not even Chinese person named Glenn got you into the city. Then what?"

"We got ourselves into a department store and gathered up some things. Our exit was lookin' as good as our entrance until some stupid, pain-in-the-ass cop came ridin' into the city on a horse, shootin' up the whole dang city, RIGHT near the department store! So of course all them dead bastards start makin' their way over to that big dummy. Well, they get a hold of his horse and start chowin' down on it, while he hops off and hides in a tank," said Merle shaking his head.

"What the hell was he doing riding into Atlanta on a horse for?" asked Dylan. "Sounds like a suicide mission."

"Well it woulda been if Glenn wasn't such an overly emotional sissy. He felt bad for the asshole and got hold of a radio and somehow got the dumb bastard out of the tank and brought him into our group. He and I didn't care much for each other right off. He called himself Officer Friendly. Yeah, real friendly. Long story short, he ended up handcuffing me to a pipe on the roof."

Dylan raised an eyebrow. "Why would he do that?"

Merle looked sheepish.

"So you made one of the bad choices you were talking about a few weeks ago at dinner," said Dylan.

"Well that stupid shit was gonna get us all killed! There were walkers swarming that department store. I had to do something drastic. What would you have done?" asked Merle, looking expectant.

"Hopefully not get myself handcuffed to a roof," said Dylan, with a gleam of mischief in his eyes. "I'm just giving you a hard time, Merle. Go ahead."

"Well, after a comedy of errors, they ended up findin' a way to escape and took off," said Merle.

"Wait. What? What about you?" asked Dylan.

"They left me there," said Merle.

"They LEFT YOU HANDCUFFED TO THE ROOF?" asked Dylan, standing up. "Are you kidding me?"

"I shit you not my friend," said Merle.

"There was no argument? No fight about how they were doing something wrong? No one came to your aid?" asked Dylan. "Not even that guy Glenn?"

Merle sighed. "One guy, this black dude they called T-Dog…he came up to the roof with the key. Then the dumb son of a bitch dropped it into a grate! So he goes runnin' off like a scared rabbit and leaves me there. At least he took the time to shut and chain the door to the roof. Within the hour, there were over a dozen hungry bastards pushing against that damn door. I really thought I was a goner. "

Dylan sat back down. "A year ago, I would have said that I couldn't believe anyone could be that heartless. It pisses me off that those people did that to you but it doesn't surprise me. Everyone's out for themselves now. It's sickening."

Merle gently punched Dylan in the arm. "We ain't like that. Me, you and Ben we'd never leave a man behind," he said softly.

Dylan nodded and gestured to Merle's hand. "So I'm going to make the horrifying and unbelievable assumption that you had to do the unthinkable to get out of that cuff."

"Yep," said Merle. "I had the good fortune of having some tools from camp handy. I won't get too far into detail, but I cut the damn thing off."

"How did you even make it out of the building alive?" asked Dylan.

Merle shrugged. "I have my ways. I took care of some walkers, cauterized my stump, escaped through a window, and the rest is history."

"Not so fast," said Dylan. "What about Daryl?

"Well I took shelter in an old newspaper buildin' for two days, nursin' my ailments. I had every intention of goin' back to camp seekin' vengeance. But by the time I got back to camp, they'd packed up and left. I saw bunch of burned bodies and graves too. Must've been a walker attack and they didn't feel safe in camp anymore."

"So you never got to find Daryl," said Dylan, sadly.

"Nope. They probably got back to camp and told him I was dead. Either that or he was one of the poor burned up bastards or buried in one of them graves. I just don't know," said Merle, looking down at his feet, despondent.

"Do you think they would have told Daryl the truth about what they did to you?" asked Dylan.

Merle looked skeptical. " I can't imagine they would. Daryl's quick to anger and he woulda flipped out. Don't think they'd take the risk."

Dylan was all too familiar with betrayal at the hands of someone he thought he could trust. He thought of the people that committed the heinous act against Merle and his blood boiled with anger. Those people were supposed to look out for each other. Instead, Merle got left behind in an act of treachery. He felt sorry for Daryl, who was probably totally unaware of what his brother went through.

The fear and the pain on that rooftop must have been overwhelming for Merle. Dylan had grown to care deeply for the man and considered him family. He may have made poor choices in the past, but Dylan felt that Merle didn't deserve the way he was treated. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that, Merle. That's awful. I admit I've conjured up a lot of theories about how you lost your hand. I never imagined it was because of cowards and traitors."

Merle put his hand on Dylan's shoulder. "It's all over now Dylan. Me you and Ben are gonna take care of each other. The way I see it is I'd never have met ya'll if things went down any different, ya know? I'm glad we all crossed paths."

Dylan smiled. "I'm glad too."

They burned the bodies of the walkers and went back to the pub. That night Dylan lay under his blankets and said a silent prayer for Daryl Dixon. Hopefully the man was still alive and would someday reunite with Merle. He knew it was foolish to pray for such things, but he felt that he should keep hope alive for Merle's sake. He deserved at least that.


	9. Chapter 9

9

And now for some Daryl Dixon. Quick A/N (***do not read A/N or chapter if you have not yet seen the last three episodes of season 2. I don't want to spoil it for anyone***): This story will follow the group after the horde at Hershel's farm, except Andrea never gets separated from everyone. I'm not going to follow along with the mythology revealed by Rick during the season two finale, as humans have already died in this story and didn't reanimate, so it wouldn't make sense for me to go there. Also, there is no prison or Michonne on the horizon. Thanks so much for reading and for your great comments!

Daryl Dixon was having a shitty day.

A really, really shitty day.

It was just supposed to be a quick early morning hunt. It was prime season for turkeys and he had a hunch that a large rafter was just over a mile away from his temporary camp. After he and his group were forced from Hershel's farm, Daryl was once again looked to for food. He gladly took on the task. Hunting provided him with the solitude that he was constantly seeking.

Their group had taken temporary refuge at a wastewater treatment plant roughly fifteen miles from the farm. It provided moderate shelter and safety, but Daryl was growing restless. They had been at the plant for about a month, which was way too long to be in one place as far as Daryl was concerned. He understood that the group desperately needed the consistency of staying in one place, but danger was always lurking around every corner. When people got too comfortable, they let their guards down. That was most certainly a recipe for disaster. Daryl learned that even the idyllic setting of the farm could quickly turn into chaos and destruction. They needed a much safer place if they were to ever lay down roots.

However, each time he brought that up it was unsurprisingly met with resistance. Hershel, with his sentimental mind, would argue to postpone a move until after the winter. Rick, though recently hardened by the events that took place at the farm, tended to agree with Hershel. The women in the group, with the exception of Andrea, usually sided with Rick and Hershel as well. Daryl eventually came to the conclusion that he'd have to bite his tongue, understanding that if he wanted to be part of the group, he'd have to go along with the majority rule.

And so, he had set out that morning, keeping his mind focused only on a turkey dinner…

However, instead of finding the rafter, he found three armed men. Their intentions weren't good to say the least. They grilled him about his camp, wanting to know where his people were. None of them mentioned it, but Daryl thought for certain they were from Randall's camp. Both groups may have done some moving around recently, but Daryl knew that the nearly thirty-strong assemblage of men was always close by, ready to strike at his people.

_Goddamned Randall_. That kid caused nothing but trouble from the second he arrived at Hershel's farm. If Rick and Glenn would have just left the stupid bastard back at that bar after he and his men fired upon them it would have saved his group a lot of heartache.

Not that any of it mattered now. Randall was dead, as was Shane and, tragically, Dale. Daryl still got a bad, metallic taste in his mouth every time he thought of the older man's gruesome death. Dale and Daryl had spoken in private hours before. The older man had pleaded with him to stand by him in fighting to keep Randall alive. Daryl never would have imagined that he'd have to put a bullet in the man's brain after a wayward walker disemboweled the poor bastard. Dale had always been a bit nosey but Daryl knew that the man genuinely liked and respected him. That was a rarity for the young hunter. Dale would certainly be missed.

Then, of course, there was the enormous walker horde that damn near devoured Daryl and the remainder of his group, causing everyone to flee from the farm where they had planned to make their home. Rick, their beleaguered leader, was clearly struggling internally. Everyone was on edge. And Daryl constantly oscillated between his need to be alone and his desire to keep himself and everyone he'd grown to care for alive. Life in the apocalypse could sure be a real bitch.

And now this bullshit.

"Come on, move!" he heard the husky voice of Gerald Sutter behind him, as the rifle was thrust between his shoulder blades.

"Get that goddamn gun outta my back!" Daryl said through gritted teeth.

"Oh what are you gonna do, you frigging hillbilly?" asked Gerald.

It was a stupid question. Gerald knew exactly what Daryl would do if given the chance. The crossbow wielding man had already begun building a body count in the thirty minutes they'd known each other. First, was the unfortunate death of Ned Seeley, who got one of Daryl's arrows to the throat when the trio ambushed him in the woods.

And then there was Hank Adkins. He had tied Daryl's hands behind his back while Gerald held his rifle at Daryl's head. Once tied up, both men figured Daryl couldn't be much trouble so they let their guards down. That was a regrettable mistake. In mere seconds, Daryl kneed Hank in the chin as the man bent down to grab his pistol. Once Hank fell to the ground, Daryl smashed in his skull like a plump grape under his heavy boot. All this before Gerald could fire off a warning shot.

"Where you takin' me?" Daryl asked as he and Gerald walked through the woods. "And more importantly, what are you gonna do with me once we get there?"

"I SHOULD blow your brains out after what you did to my men," said Gerald.

"Do it then ya sally. It would be a dang improvement. Less time I gotta spend with you, the better off I'll be," snapped Daryl.

"Shut up!" ordered Gerald. "I'm taking you back to my camp. We're gonna get to know each other real well there. Then you're gonna tell us where your people are."

"Already told you, dummy. I don't have any people," said Daryl. "Don't you listen?"

"Bullshit," said Gerald. "My scouts got into some gunplay with a few of your people at some bar over a month ago. Some of our men were killed. I know ya'll are holed up somewhere close by. You got food, supplies and pretty little ladies, don't act like you don't."

"You ambush a man huntin' alone in the woods, assuming he's part of some imaginary group? You're as dumb as you are fat," said Daryl.

"Bet you got a tight little girlfriend back at your camp, don't you crossbow guy?" taunted Gerald. "What's her name? Bet she'll like my so-called fat ass when I'm on top of her. You can even watch if you want. If you're not dead."

"If you're lookin' to get laid, tubby, I'd suggest you find some livestock or the closest cousin 'cause I can't help ya," said Daryl.

"You can and you will help me," warned Gerald.

"You can and you will BITE MY BAG," said Daryl. He turned around quickly and looked at his crossbow, now draped over Gerald's shoulder. When he turned back, his eyes flared with anger. "You better be careful with that thing or I'll give your head the same piñata treatment that your ugly ass friend got." He grunted in pain when he once again felt the rifle slam into his shoulder blades.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Dylan and Merle were crouched behind Ben as the young boy held tightly to the grip of his bow, ready to fire on the squirrel that was quickly making its way into the dead center of his sight.

He slowly pulled his bent arm back, his elbow leading the way, as he held tightly to the bowstring. He had excellent aim with a gun, but a bow and arrow was an entirely different experience. So was trying to hit live, moving targets. Using his keen vision and steady hands, he waited patiently for the animal.

For Dylan, the wait was maddening. He felt as though they'd been sitting in the woods for hours. He didn't possess the fortitude of his younger brother. However, his stomach growled for a hot meal and he knew if anyone could get that squirrel, it would be Ben. His hours practicing hitting targets with Merle had proven to pay off during hunts. Dylan struggled to sit still, but tried his damndest for Ben's sake.

The squirrel made its way up the side of a large oak tree and stopped. With one precise movement, Ben released the arrow. It sailed through the air, a silent killer with one objective. When the arrow successfully hit the target, Ben turned to Merle and Dylan, eyes glittering with excitement.

They had a quiet celebration in the woods after Merle removed the arrow from the animal and showed it to Ben. "You're skinnin' this one," he said quietly, as he attached the creature to his wire. "Don't be no sissy."

"Awesome," said Ben, groaning. He felt bad enough killing the little animal. Skinning it would prove to be an arduous task as well.

"Ya get used to it," said Merle, shrugging. "Ya wanna eat dontcha?"

Ben smiled. "That goes without saying."

"What do you think Ben? Can you wrangle up two more, preferably within the next five minutes?" asked Dylan.

"I'll do my best, Dyl. Patience is a virtue," said Ben.

"Tell that to my stomach," said Dylan.

Just then they heard a twig snap. The trio perked their ears and caught the sounds of footfalls on the forest floor. Dylan cocked his head to the side. "Two men. Arguing," he said quietly.

"Where's it coming from?" asked Ben.

"Can't tell," said Merle. He looked at Dylan. "Take Ben. We'll do a boomerang."

Dylan nodded. "Let's go Ben."

Merle quickly went left down a small hill while the boys went right, moving as quietly as they possibly could. Soon, Dylan realized that he and Ben were walking in the right direction, as the men's voices got louder. In fact, it became apparent that the men were a lot closer to them then he previously thought. "We need to hide. Like now," he whispered. The men were almost right on top of them now.

Ben looked around quickly, not seeing much. The trees in winter were thin and naked. He looked at the tall tree in front of them and pointed upwards. He shrugged. "How about we go up?"

"Sounds like our only option," said Dylan, as the boys scurried up the tree and rested six feet away from each other on opposing branches. Just forty-five seconds later, the two men made their way under the tree and stopped.

Dylan gulped, praying neither would look up. His eyes widened when he realized that one of the men had his hands tied behind his back. The other man carried a rifle. Dylan took a moment to assess the situation. He only had his axe tucked into his belt loop and Merle was currently in possession of the Beretta. Ben had opted to leave his rifle at the pub in favor of the compound bow. If Dylan decided to help the man who was tied up, he'd have to figure something out, and fast.

"On your knees," said the man with the rifle, his back to Dylan and Ben. Dylan suddenly felt queasy. He and Ben exchanged nervous looks. The man who was tied up was about to be executed.

The man got on his knees as instructed. Dylan noted that he chose to face his executioner, a rather brave gesture. When he knelt down, he was facing towards Dylan and Ben, who he spotted right away when he looked up into the eyes of the man with the rifle. However, Dylan and Ben were in no danger of the man giving up their positions, as he locked eyes with Dylan only briefly before looking away. He had a sharp, almost feral appearance, hinting that he was man of the woods, and a very tough man at that. His eyes were crisp blue, piercing and showed no fear. Dylan thought there was something very familiar about those eyes. But what? He never met the man who was kneeling before, he was sure of it.

"Now you got one more chance," said the man with the rifle. "You give me what I want or I splatter your brains all over these woods."

"That's the umpteenth time you've threatened to shoot me today. When do you suppose you're gonna grow a set and pull the trigger?" asked the blue eyed man calmly. "I already told you. I can't help you. So you do what you gotta do."

Dylan quietly moved to another branch until he was directly above the head of the man with the gun. He looked back at Ben, who shook his head madly and mouthed, "What are you doing?"

Dylan wasn't even sure yet, but he couldn't just watch someone get murdered in cold blood and stand idly by. His father certainly wouldn't allow it either. At the thought of his father, Dylan got an idea. A ridiculous, risky and insane idea. Ben shook his head at his brother again. Dylan could almost hear his brother's voice in his mind. "Dylan James Murray," he'd say. "Don't you dare do something so stupid."

But he had to. Wielding his axe could create a shaky situation, causing him to possibly lose his balance. Ben was a good shot, but he didn't expect his baby brother to play sniper, especially when the boy was still relatively new to the bow. He had one other option.

"Fine," said the man with the rifle. "Have it your way asshole."

As he raised his gun, Dylan quickly swung from the lowest branch and wrapped his thighs tightly around the man's head. He pivoted his hips with one sharp, powerful motion, instantly breaking the man's neck. The man's body went limp. Dylan released him and he fell face forward on top of his gun.

Dylan landed on the ground as the blue-eyed man got to his feet. "Are you alright?" Dylan asked, going right to the man. He was much larger and imposing now that he was standing, revealing broad shoulders and a rugged, robust frame.

"Better now that this fat asshole landed face first instead of on top of my crossbow," said the man. "Thanks for that by the way," he said softly.

Dylan nodded. "I'm just glad it worked. I've never actually tried that move before."

The man raised his eyebrows. "Then I guess congratulations are in order. I'd pat you on the back but," he said, turning around to expose his tied hands.

Ben hopped out of the tree and walked to the man. "I'll get you untied," he offered cheerfully. "I saw a knife on the gunman's hip. And by the way, Dyl," he said patting his brother on the shoulder. "After what I just saw, I can officially say that I have the coolest big brother ever."

Dylan smiled proudly. "Thanks Ben."

"You can count me as a fan too," said the blue-eyed man.

Ben knelt down next to Gerald. "Geez, he's heavy," he said, trying to move his rotund body. Dylan assisted and Ben quickly extracted the knife, along with the rifle. He went over to the man and began slicing at the rope around his wrists.

"Thanks," said the man, rubbing his wrists after they came free.

"Why was that guy trying to kill you?" asked Ben.

The man shrugged. "Rejected his offer for a date. Told him I don't swing that way." He turned to Dylan, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "So Rambo the High School Years," he said. "Do you and your partner in crime just pop out of trees and break necks for funsies?"

Dylan smiled. "No. We were just in the right place at the right time I guess. I'm Dylan. This is my brother Ben."

"Nice meetin' you Dylan and Ben." The man didn't offer his name, choosing instead to pull his crossbow free from Gerald's corpse. He draped it over his shoulder before taking a moment to observe the boys. "Ya'll by yourselves or is this a Lord of the Flies situation where I'll suddenly be surrounded by fifty psycho kids with peach fuzz?"

Dylan chuckled. "There's just one more of us. An older guy."

"Your father?" asked the man.

The question stung, but Dylan swallowed it back. "No. Just another in our group."

"Ya'll got a camp around here?" he asked.

Ben looked down at his feet. This was where Dylan did most of the talking, as their "no outsiders" rule was to be strictly enforced. "No," said Dylan. "No, we were just passing through. Still trying to find a permanent place to settle."

He cocked his head to the side. "So where's your other guy? And your gear?"

"We camped for the night up near the railroad tracks. Our third is waiting there for us," said Dylan. "We went out on a hunt. We were just gonna eat and then pack up."

"Uh huh," he said. "And your kill?" he asked, with raised eyebrows.

"We had our sights on a squirrel when we heard you both coming towards us," explained Dylan. "So nothing yet."

The man looked at the bow strapped to Ben's shoulder. "Nice," he said, admiring it.

Ben smiled. He kind of liked the man with the crossbow already and he felt bad turning him away. He personally didn't see the harm in inviting him back to Argent. It was only one guy for crying out loud. However, rules were rules. Besides they couldn't just take on another person without Merle's approval anyway. "Thanks. Yours is cool, too," he said, pointing to the crossbow.

"Yeah," said the man. "Keeps me alive so I think I'll keep her around." He gestured to the knife in Ben's hand. "Mind if I take that back, kid? That's mine too."

"Sure," said Ben, handing it to him.

The man thanked him before removing the sheath from Gerald's belt and attaching it to his own. He handed Ben the rifle, which the boy accepted with caution. "Are you sure you don't want it?" he asked.

"Nah, I'm set," said the man, lifting his heavy flannel shirt to reveal a pistol stowed into the waist of his pants. "Fatty tucked his buddy's gun in there before we started our little hike."

"What happened to the buddy?" asked Dylan.

The man smirked. "He wasn't up for a walk." There was an awkward moment of silence between the three of them before the man once again spoke up. "Guess I'd better head out then," he said. "Let ya'll get back to business." He adjusted the strap of his crossbow. "Thanks for takin' care of this idiot," he said to Dylan, as he walked past Gerald's body. He suddenly stopped and turned towards them. "I feel I'd better warn you two. There's another camp of thirty or so guys somewhere around here. They've been a real pain in the ass of late. Not the kind of people you wanna cross paths with. That tub o' lard was with 'em. Just…keep a sharp eye."

"Thanks," said Dylan. "We'll be sure to. And you as well."

Ben sighed loudly as they watched the man walk away. Dylan looked down at him. "Don't even give me those puppy dog eyes Ben. You know the rules."

"But he's so freaking cool!" said Ben. "With the crossbow and the leather vest and the way he talks and all that! Did you see his face when that guy was about to shoot him? He showed no fear whatsoever!"

"A man who's not afraid to die can be dangerous Ben," said Dylan. "We don't know why that guy was going to shoot him either. It means he's hiding something. And can you imagine him and Merle going toe to toe? It would be a bloodbath."

"How do you know that? I bet crossbow guy and Merle would actually like each other. Two badasses with secrets. They're like something out of a movie. I can just see them doing the slow motion walk in my head right now."

_Like something out of a movie_. Dylan thought the same thing about Merle when he first met him. Merle and the blue-eyed man certainly shared that same steely gaze… and that swagger. Then it hit him. Those eyes. _He's a beast with a crossbow, I tell you what._

Daryl!

Dylan felt like he just got the wind knocked out of him. He had to be. He just had to be. "Wait!" he called to the man. "Daryl, come back!"


	10. Chapter 10

10

**Hi! Thanks so much for reading and commenting. This chapter is a bit heavy on the dialogue but a lot needs to be discussed, as we all know. I hope you like the direction I'm taking this. Have a great weekend!

The man spun on his heels and walked back to Dylan and Ben. "I don't remember tellin' you my name, kid," he said, his eyes blazing with suspicion.

Dylan stepped forward. "I know. Look, this is going to sound nine kinds of crazy but if you're Daryl…I believe we know your brother."

He stepped closer to Dylan, eyes wide with disbelief. He choked out, "Merle?"

"Yes!" said Dylan excitedly. "Yes, Merle. He's the third in our group. He's been with us for a couple of months."

Daryl looked like he'd been slapped in the face. "He's okay?"

"Very much so," said Dylan. "There's a lot you don't know yet. But we'll get you back to him and he can fill you in on everything, and…"

Daryl began to back up a couple of steps, looking extremely nervous suddenly. Dylan watched as Daryl shifted from one foot to the other, biting his thumbnail.

Dylan's eyebrows knitted together. "Daryl what's wrong?"

"How long did you say he's been with ya'll?" asked Daryl.

"A couple of months," said Dylan. "Why?"

"And everything's all right?" asked Daryl. "Ya'll get along and all that? No problems?"

"Of course," said Dylan. He didn't understand Daryl's sudden apprehension. Didn't he want to see Merle after all this time? "He's great. We're…thick as thieves."

For some reason the old expression had calmed Daryl considerably, even causing him to offer the trace of a smile. "You say he's just over near the tracks?"

"No," said Dylan. "I lied about that. We're not big into outsiders coming into our group. I didn't want to let on that we're settled somewhere."

"Understandable," said Daryl, softly.

"But you're not an outsider. Not anymore," Ben chimed in. "Merle should be coming around pretty soon. We've got this maneuver he made up called a boomerang and, it's really cool, you see you have to…"

"Daryl?" said a voice behind the boys. Merle stepped closer, looking like he saw a ghost. Two pairs of eyes met, diamond hard, but with a glimmer of love and recognition just below the surface. "Jesus boy," he said. "You're a sight for sore eyes."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Dylan and Ben watched as the Dixon brothers stepped closer to each other. To look at the Dixon's one could reasonably assume that they weren't quick to offer a hug or shed happy tears, so Dylan and Ben settled for the hearty slaps on the shoulders and genuine smiles that Merle and Daryl offered each other instead. Too see them standing next to each other it was easy to see the family resemblance. Both were imposing men with an almost untamed manner about them.

"You look good," said Daryl, trying to avoid looking at the stump where Merle's right hand used to be. "Obviously eatin' well old man," he said patting Merle's stomach.

"You too," said Merle. "Put on a little weight up top since I saw ya last. You been liftin' tree trunks with them arms or what?"

Daryl smiled. "Killin' walkers full time helps build the upper body strength I guess." He gestured to Dylan and Ben with his thumb. "What'd you do, start an apocalypse daycare center?"

Merle laughed. "Hey these two taught me a thing or two, I tell you what. They're not so bad for a coupla Yankee bastards."

Daryl looked down at Gerald's body and then gestured to Dylan. "I'm learnin' that pretty fast. That older one made quick work of that asshole."

"What'd he want with ya anyway?" asked Merle.

"He's with a larger group," said Daryl. "They're just lookin' around for more guns and women, that's all."

"So they thought you was part of a camp," surmised Merle. "Are ya?"

Dylan watched as Daryl got that nervous expression again. "That's why that guy was going to shoot you," Dylan said to Daryl. "You wouldn't tell him where your people were."

"Shit, how many ya got boy?" asked Merle. He looked over at Ben and Dylan. "We don't take anyone in usually but you'd be the exception to the rule. What's your situation right now?"

Daryl fidgeted with the strap of his crossbow, biting the inside of his cheek. He cleared his throat. "Eleven including me."

Merle and Dylan exchanged glances. Eleven was a large number. Hell, even two was a large number considering the circumstances. Taking Daryl in would be ideal, but Dylan wasn't crazy about an additional ten people that he wasn't sure he could trust coming into the fold. "How many men besides you?" Dylan asked.

"Four men. One boy and five women," said Daryl.

"All good people?" asked Merle.

Daryl nodded. "Yeah. All people you can trust for sure."

"How long you been with 'em?" asked Merle. "When did you split off from those assholes back at our old camp?"

Dylan cocked his head to the side as Daryl hesitated. The man was being extremely skittish about the topic at hand. He felt butterflies in his stomach as he came to the realization that Daryl never left the original group…the group that callously left his brother on the roof in Atlanta to die. The poor guy had no idea that the people he had spent months with, worked with side by side, were capable of such a thing.

Or did he? Daryl had yet to inquire about Merle's missing hand. Was it possible he knew what happened yet still remained with those people? Dylan looked at Merle, wondering if the man had formed the same questions in his own mind.

"Merle," started Daryl. "I…"

"You never left, did you?" Merle asked, his voice sounding both accusatory and hurt.

Daryl went to speak and Merle held up his stump to his brother's face. Daryl cringed at the sight of it. He looked away as Merle spoke. "Ain't pretty, is it?" he asked. "These are people you're callin' trustworthy? They left me to die!"

"Merle, you don't understand, we went back for you. When they told me what happened, I was set to go into the city alone to get you. But the cop…Rick…he came with me. Glenn and T-Dog too. We went back to the department store for you. I swear it, Merle, we did," said Daryl.

"Did ya?" Merle asked, his voice hoarse. "Well ain't that sweet?" He spat on the ground and began to pace back and forth. "You knew. You KNEW and instead of tellin' them all to go to Hell, you team up with 'em?"

"To go get YOU!" roared Daryl. "Merle, you…"

Merle approached Daryl. "I went back to that camp."

"What?" asked Daryl. "When?"

"Two days after they left me in Atlanta. I went back and saw burned bodies and goddamn graves and I imagined the worst. You were gone I had no idea what had happened to ya. I didn't know if you were alive, or one of them monsters or six feet under. Do you know how that feels?" asked Merle, his voice thrumming with pain.

Daryl's eyes were moist. He grabbed Merle's stump with his right hand and held it up. "Sometimes not knowin' can be better than the alternative," he said ruefully. "Trust me, I wish I didn't know what happened to you Merle. It killed me to know. You don't think I wanted to put an arrow through Rick and T-Dog when I heard what happened? You don't think I've shed tears for you? You don't think I wanted to go off on my own a THOUSAND TIMES since?"

"Oh yeah, well why didn't ya?" asked Merle. "You'd survive on ya own just fine."

Daryl looked over at Dylan and Ben before turning back to Merle. "Shit's not that cut and dry when you got people to keep alive," he said softly. "Is it, Merle?"

Merle softened as Daryl let go of him. He looked over at the boys. "No. Guess not."

The sound of footsteps pierced the air. Daryl listened intently. "Two. Human. Coming from that direction," he said pointing. Merle extracted the Beretta from his pants and tossed it to Dylan. He then grabbed his .357 as Daryl did his newly acquired pistol. Ben held his new rifle at the ready. The four stood waiting quietly for their visitors to arrive.

Daryl took two steps forward and listened carefully. He suddenly lowered the pistol. "What are ya doin'?" asked Merle.

Daryl turned to him. "It's okay. It's just Rick and Glenn. They must be out lookin' for me."

"Terrific," Merle said, rolling his eyes. He looked over at Dylan and Ben and they silently agreed to keep their guns raised.

As Rick and Glenn made their way into the clearing, they were visibly relieved upon seeing Daryl. They both went to him in a small celebration of pats on the shoulder and smiles, temporarily unaware of their surroundings. In fact, they were so focused upon Daryl that it took a few seconds to realize that they had three guns trained on them.

Rick locked eyes with Dylan first. His were a deep blue and he had a rough beard. Dylan felt he looked more exhausted and downtrodden than cowardly and cold. However, looks could be deceiving. Dylan noted the Colt in his hand. However, he did not raise his weapon right away, perhaps due to Ben's presence, even though the boy was also armed. He did when he saw Merle, though, as did Glenn. Both Rick and Glenn aimed their guns at Merle. Dylan took two steps closer to Rick, the Beretta holding steady in his hand.

Daryl made the signal for a time out. "Alright, everybody put their dicks away. Ain't gonna be no pissin' contest today."

Glenn was the first to comply, lowering his rifle and waiting for everyone else to follow. Rick held the Colt firmly aimed at Merle. Daryl went to him and touched his forearm. "Come on, Rick," he said. "Let's all be big boys. Lower it."

"I'd like to comply," said Rick. "But Merle doesn't look like he wants to play fair."

"Play fair, huh?" asked Merle. He looked at Dylan. "You believe this guy?"

Dylan shook his head. "Seems a little late to preach about playing fair," he said to Rick. "The man's down a hand because of you."

Rick blinked in surprise. "It sounds like you don't know the whole story."

"Maybe not," said Dylan. "But I know enough. And I know guys like you aren't hard to figure out."

Rick looked flabbergasted. "Wha-Guys like ME? I think you've heard some tall tales son. You have no idea who you've been running with."

"Sure I do," said Dylan. "A guy who got betrayed by his people. Betrayed by YOU."

Rick laughed bitterly. He looked at Daryl, who silently pleaded with him. He sighed and lowered his weapon. "Unbelievable."

Daryl turned to Dylan. "It's okay. You can put it down." Dylan looked at Merle, whose eyes were fixed upon Rick. He didn't lower his gun so Dylan held to his position. Daryl approached him, staying out of everyone's earshot. "Dylan," he whispered calmly. "No one wants a war right here in the woods. If you lower yours Merle and Ben will do the same. Please," said Daryl, blue eyes insistent. Despite recent revelations, Dylan felt a certain amount of trust for Daryl. He was Merle's baby brother, his family. He was Ben, all grown up. Dylan nodded and lowered his gun, looking to Ben. The boy complied and both looked to Merle.

The large man gritted his teeth before bringing the .357 back down to his side. "You win Daryl."

"Ain't about winnin' Merle," said Daryl.

"Merle," started Glenn. "Please understand that we went back for you. We went to the department store. To the roof."

"I know that already," said Merle, holding up his stump. "Ever hear the expression 'too little, too late'?"

"Merle," said Rick, putting his gun down on the ground and approaching Merle with his hands in the air. "Look, poor choices were made on both sides of the fence and you know that. We can't go back and change it now, but we're sorry that it all went down that way. I'm sorry. Going back for you was the best we could do with the circumstances we were in. If we could go back and do things differently then we would, but we can't. No one wishes you any harm, Merle. Never did."

Merle studied Rick for a moment. He grunted and spat on the ground before walking to a nearby tree and sitting down against it. Dylan and Ben joined him, while Daryl, Glenn and Rick got into a tight circle for a discussion. "Merle? You okay?" asked Ben, putting his hand on his shoulder.

Merle looked at Ben's big grey eyes and couldn't help but smile at the boy's concern for him. "Yeah I'm okay kiddo. Ole Merle takes his punches but he gets back up. Don't you worry 'bout me."

"What do you think they're saying?" Dylan asked, looking at what seemed like and intense discussion between the three men.

Merle shrugged. "Probably talkin' 'bout bringin' us into their group."

"What?" asked Dylan. "We aren't doing that right?" he asked nervously.

Merle chuckled. "Doubt it. Daryl can argue in our favor all he wants but Rick appears to be the boss here. If he thinks my mind is on vengeance he won't put the others in camp at risk. Besides, I ain't leavin' Argent anytime soon anyway and I know ya'll ain't either."

"Do you think Daryl would come back to Argent with us?" asked Ben.

"And leave the others behind? I don't know boys. That's a tough call," said Merle.

"But you're his brother," said Dylan. "Why wouldn't he side with you?"

"Don't go gettin' nervous, Dylan," said Merle. "Things is all up in the air right now. If It comes down to I'll hogtie Daryl and throw him over my shoulder," he said playfully rubbing Dylan's head.

Dylan watched the three men argue. Rick's apology seemed heartfelt, and Dylan couldn't deny that Rick and Glenn looked genuinely relieved to see that Daryl was okay. It was obvious they cared for him. His stomach knotted, thinking about the possible outcome of their heated discussion.

Meanwhile, Daryl listened to a barrage of concerns regarding Merle's possible introduction back into their group. "Daryl, I've got a pregnant wife and son to worry about. We've got women in camp that would be no match for Merle."

"Merle wouldn't hurt no woman, Rick. That ain't his way. Besides, we're down Shane and Dale. We need more able-bodied men." He looked back at Ben and Dylan. "The little guy there's still got a ways to go, but the older one, Dylan, ain't no sissy. Hell, the kid saved me from that idiot with the rifle. Jumped out of a dang tree and broke the guys neck."

"He what?" asked Glenn. "Are you serious? He's just a teenager for God's sake."

Yeah," said Daryl. "Imagine if he's like this now what he'll be like in five or ten years. You see how he holds that gun? Steady as a rock. And I'd be willin' to bet he could swing that axe on his hip pretty well too. He's smart and strong. We need people like that."

"Daryl having someone like that in camp would be an asset, but who knows what kinds of things Merle's been telling those boys. You heard what Dylan said to me. He obviously doesn't trust us," said Rick. "Me especially. If I'm going to lead this group I need everyone behind me. I need everyone to trust me."

"We're gonna have to make a decision one way or the other," said Daryl. "Glenn?"

"Daryl," said Glenn. "You're his brother and you know him best. If you think Merle's okay to come back to camp with us, then I'll vote for us to invite him and the kids back to camp."

Daryl nodded a silent thank you to Glenn. Both men looked to Rick. The man sighed and put up his hands. "Okay," he said. "Let's extend the invite. But Daryl I need to be one hundred percent certain that Merle isn't out for revenge."

"What if he says no?" Glenn asked, looking expectantly at Daryl.

Daryl shook his head. "Don't know. Dylan mentioned that they were settled somewhere already. If Merle's happy where he is he might just decline our offer."

"No, I meant what are YOU going to do if he says no," said Glenn.

Daryl looked down at his feet. "Guess I'll jump off that bridge when I come to it."

As Daryl walked over to Merle and the boys, he was suffering from conflicting emotions. Ideally, Merle would take up with his group and go back to the treatment plant. However, Daryl wasn't intent on staying there forever. Also, he truly wanted to be back with Merle, despite his current status within Rick's group. If it was just Daryl, Merle and the boys, life would be much quieter and there would be far less conflict to deal with. However, he had emotional ties to Rick's group, namely his close bond with Carol.

In addition, he and Andrea had become fast friends since they began sharing a watch a month earlier. The woman had successfully risen up above tragedy to become a formidable ally. She always sided with Daryl when he suggested leaving the treatment plant. However, as per usual, Rick and Hershel ruled the roost. He shook away his thoughts temporarily when he got over to the tree where Merle and the boys sat. He took a spot on the ground and looked his brother in the eye. "We'd like you to come back with us. You and the boys."

Dylan and Ben both looked at their feet. Merle looked over at Glenn and Rick, who were standing thirty feet away. "Sorry little brother. We're happy where we are. But I'm glad ya friends don't think I'm homicidal anymore."

Dylan looked up and saw the hurt in Daryl's eyes. "Daryl come with us," he blurted out. Daryl looked at him in surprise. He felt that the boys must have really trusted Merle to embrace Daryl so quickly.

"We've got a sweet setup," interjected Ben. "It's really safe."

"But only you Daryl," said Merle. "I don't want these other assholes comin' in and screwin' up what me and the boys worked for. I mean it."

"I know you do," said Daryl. He looked down and bit his lower lip. He had to think fast. He couldn't lose Merle, but he also had others to worry about. He'd finally worked his way into the hearts of his group and they into his. However, just before Dale's death, he felt as though the group was slowly coming apart. Rick and Lori were showing signs of strain. Rick had firmly declared his leadership after the horde at the farm, only to go back to old ways soon after. Hershel was becoming more and more isolated and depressed by the day. What was he to do? He decided to take a chance. "A compromise," he said. "Please."

"What do you propose?" asked Merle.

"If I come along, I'd like to bring two other people," said Daryl.

"Who?" Merle asked.

"Andrea. And Carol."

"Blondie and that douche bag Ed's wife? Why?"

"Why does it matter?" Daryl asked. "I never heard you complain when Carol did your laundry or Andrea took your shifts on watch so you could take a nap. Two women ain't gonna be no trouble."

Merle raised an eyebrow. "Depends on the woman. I take it Blondie's sister and Ed are no longer with us?"

Daryl gulped. "No. Carol's little daughter's gone too."

Merle looked between Dylan and Ben. "Well what do ya'll think? Ain't just my vote that counts. Which, by the way, I think it'd be alright for the two ladies to come live with us."

Dylan and Ben shrugged. Women certainly were more rational and kinder as a rule. The Murray's didn't have the same kind of mistrust for them as they did men. "Sure," said Dylan. "Might be nice to have a woman's touch around Argent."

"What's Argent?" asked Daryl.

"That's the name of our town," said Ben, smiling. "Actually it's a village."

"Ya'll have the whole thing to yourself?" asked Daryl.

"You just wait and see little brother," said Merle, with a gleam in his eye. "You're gonna love it."

Daryl sighed. "Okay. Deal's been made. I'll need to go back and speak with Carol and Andrea and pack my bags."

"We'll go with you," said Merle, standing up.

"Are you sure?" Daryl asked. "It's only a mile back that way and we can meet here tomorrow if you want."

Merle shook his head. "Don't wanna risk bein' separated again," he said softly.

Daryl nodded in understanding. "Yeah." He was dreading the conversation that he was going to have to have with Rick. In addition, he had no idea if Carol or Andrea would agree to go join up with Merle and the boys, which would create even more issues. His stomach knotted when he stood up and looked over at Rick and Glenn. "Let's get this done."


	11. Chapter 11

11

**Hi all! I got a strong reaction to the possibility of a Daryl/Carol pairing. Whether you're for it or against it, I'm glad that the story is bringing about any kind of response, so that's great and keep 'em coming! This story is about friendship and adventure and I intend to stay true to those themes. Romances, if any, will be secondary in the story. Merle is a big flirt, though, so if Andrea's around I'm sure he'll lay the charm on thick! Thank you for reading and commenting!

The conversation that took place on the way back to the wastewater treatment plant was painful to watch. Glenn pleaded with Daryl not to go, then begged Merle to reconsider joining the group. Rick looked shell-shocked and listed everything that could possibly go wrong with Daryl, Andrea and Carol leaving camp.

Dylan watched Daryl with sympathy. The man was obviously feeling guilty for leaving the rest of the survivors. He was thrilled that Daryl had decided to join him, Ben and Merle, but knew that the man would certainly struggle with his decision.

The plant was only about a mile away, however the walk seemed to take an eternity considering the high level of emotion. When they arrived, Merle chose to wait outside with the boys. Dylan was relieved. He hadn't been thrilled when Merle suggested accompanying the group back to the plant. The farther they got from Argent, the more apprehensive he became. Ben seemed to share in Dylan's worry. His eyes constantly scanned the horizon for any approaching danger. He only smiled when Merle would occasionally offer a pat on his shoulder and one of his signature grins. Dylan loved seeing Merle so happy. Once they were on their way back to Argent, Dylan would finally breathe a sigh of relief.

"I'll be back soon," said Daryl. He entered the building in front of Rick. Glenn once again asked Merle to reconsider. Merle declined and a defeated Glenn hung his head as he entered the front door.

As the three of them waited outside, they inspected the area surrounding the plant. "What do ya'll think of this setup?" asked Merle.

"Not exactly a fortress," said Dylan. "It's got weak spots, and limited visibility."

"I'm surprised they've survived here this long," said Ben.

Merle nodded. "That's just what I was thinkin'."

The front door swung open and a stunning blonde woman with aquamarine eyes stepped outside. A petite woman with short hair followed her. The blonde woman was all business. She approached Merle with a stern look in her eyes.

Merle was unsuccessful in stifling a giggle as the women approached. "Well Blondie, I gotta say, the end of the world looks good on ya. They could bottle and sell whatever you got goin' on."

"Save it, Merle," she said, putting her hand up. "Carol and I just came outside to meet the boys."

"Does that mean you ladies is comin' with us?" asked Merle. "If so you can sleep right next to me Andrea."

"I'd rather sleep next to a walker that's been dipped in dog shit," she said, putting her hands on her hips, silently challenging Merle to offer a good comeback.

The man simply laughed hysterically. "Feisty as usual! How you doin' Miss Carol?"

The woman smiled meekly. "I'm doing just fine thank you Merle."

"Dylan and Ben, this um…spirited blonde beauty is Andrea and this other lovely lady is Carol," said Merle.

Andrea turned to Dylan and her eyes softened. "Hi Dylan. Nice meeting you," she said smiling.

"You too ma'am," said Dylan.

Andrea chuckled. "Call me Andrea, hun. Ma'am doesn't suit me very well."

Dylan smiled. "Sure thing. Hi Carol," he said, putting his arm around his brother. "Nice meeting you."

Carol nodded and smiled. "How long have you boys been with Merle?"

"Couple months," said Dylan.

"And you haven't killed him in his sleep?" Andrea asked, folding her arms across her chest with a glint of mischief in her eyes. "I give you a lot of credit."

"Aww quit ya yappin' woman. Ya'll comin' with us or not?" asked Merle.

"Carol's pretty much packed," said Andrea going right up to Merle, leaving only a few inches between them. "I need a little more convincing."

"Well shoot why didn't ya say somethin' before? Me and you can go find a quiet spot and I'll convince ya all afternoon if ya want," said Merle, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Andrea looked back at Carol and rolled her eyes. "All afternoon? Giving himself an awful lot of credit, isn't he?" asked Andrea. Carol simply giggled in response.

"First things first," said Andrea. She looked back up at Merle. "You're still doing drugs?"

Merle shook his head. "I'm clean. I promise ya."

"Good. That would've been a deal breaker. Now, next order of business…you are not my boss. It's not King Merle and the little women. We're equal members of the camp, NOT your maids. Got it, stumpy?" she asked.

Dylan and Ben bit their lower lips, trying not to laugh. Andrea was certainly a spitfire, and the boys liked her immediately. It was rather fun seeing someone dish it out as well as Merle could.

Merle giggled. "Andrea ya can boss me around anytime ya want. The boys and I do our own laundry and we have chores we're responsible for. We'll work as a team. Ain't no time for bein' lazy."

"And this place, I think Daryl called it Argent. Is it safe?" asked Andrea.

"Very," said Dylan. "We can see over a mile in every direction. It's really quiet. In the last two months we've maybe only seen eight or ten walkers, if that. We've put a lot of safety measures in place as well."

"We really love it there," offered Ben, smiling. "I think you will too."

Andrea and Carol smiled down at Ben. The boy could take the hard edge off of anyone, including Andrea. She playfully tugged his nose. "Well, that's really all the convincing I needed. You'd make a good salesman Ben," said Andrea. "I'll get packing," she said, walking back to the door with Carol in tow.

"I like her," said Ben, smiling. Merle looked down at him and raised an eyebrow. "What?" asked Ben, shrugging. "She's funny."

"Uh huh," said Merle, chuckling. "She's somethin' alright."

Eventually Daryl came back outside, carrying his and Carol's bags. He placed them on the ground. "Merle what about your bike? It's parked in the lot."

Merle sighed. "I noticed. Got any gas in it?"

"Enough," said Daryl.

"We might as well walk her back," decided Merle. "The trail through the woods is pretty clear."

Daryl nodded. "Sounds good. I can tie the bags to her."

As the bags were tied to the bike, the entire group came outside for tearful goodbyes. Dylan noted three more women, one of which was Rick's wife Lori, according to Daryl. She scowled at Merle as she hugged Carol. Merle only offered her a steely-eyed gaze in return. Again, Daryl was asked to rethink his decision. He only shook his head. "Just somethin' I need to do," he told Glenn as the two said their farewells. "He's my blood."

Dylan was taken aback by the shows of affection among the group's members. Everyone had tears in their eyes and wished Daryl, Andrea and Carol the best of luck. A tall, heavyset black man approached Merle and the boys felt him tense next to them. "Merle," he said in a quiet voice. "I'm so…I'm so sorry about what happened. I made sure the door was chained, and…"

"In the past, T-Dog. Ain't no thing," said Merle. The man nodded and moved back with his group. Dylan thought perhaps Merle's response was so mild due to his happiness at reuniting with Daryl. Otherwise, Dylan thought, Merle would have knocked out a few of T-Dog's teeth in retribution.

Rick's wife Lori approached Merle, her eyes bloodshot. "Is this how you really want it? To split us all up? How could you?"

"Hey, hey, hey," Daryl said, coming to Lori's side. He gently led her away. "It ain't like that," he said, bringing her back to Rick. The woman broke down in tears against her husband's chest. Rick looked stunned and hurt, wiping tears away with the back of his hand. A young boy stood by their side, tears spilling down his cheeks.

Dylan watched as Carol placed her hand on Daryl's forearm and squeezed it reassuringly. "This is the right thing to do," she whispered to him.

Andrea wiped tears from her eyes and walked to Dylan and Ben. Dylan noticed she was now outfitted with a gun and a hunting knife. "How long of a walk is it boys?"

"Just a few miles," said Dylan.

"Okay," said Andrea. "We'd better get going."

Daryl took one last moment to remind Rick to be careful of Randall's group milling about. Rick offered Daryl ammunition to which Daryl declined. "Ya'll are runnin' low as it is."

By noon, the six of them were back on the wooded trail to Argent.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Everyone was quiet as they walked through the woods. Andrea was focused on the surrounding area, always on the lookout for hidden dangers. The boys walked Merle's motorcycle. Merle was at the head of the group, forever vigilant in watching for possible problems. Daryl brought up the rear, his keen senses hard at work. Carol stayed close to him, fidgeting nervously with her necklace.

Andrea eventually found herself walking beside Dylan. He looked over at the woman. "I'm sorry you had to leave your group," he said quietly. "That must have been really hard."

"It was," said Andrea. "But I think it's for the best. Daryl and I have been doing a lot of talking over the past month. We'd discussed leaving many times."

"Why?" asked Dylan.

"Well," said Andrea sighing. "Daryl and I share certain ideas on what it takes to survive in this world. It's a good mix of common sense and caring about one another. Our old group had a tendency to screw up that formula, instead of keeping it in balance."

"What about Rick? Was he a good leader?" asked Dylan.

"Sure, sometimes," said Andrea. "He's a good man. He tries to make the best choices. But he lets things get out of hand. Let's them spin out of control and then there's the inevitable fallout and messy clean up afterwards. Daryl and I agree that avoiding that fallout is key to survival. Everyone's on the same page. We have the same goals and agree on what it takes to meet those goals."

"I agree," said Dylan. "And trust is important too."

"You got it," said Andrea. "You have to know what to expect from the others in your group. They have to be consistent. We didn't have that under our former leadership."

"Well we have all of that in our group," said Dylan. "I promise."

Andrea smiled. "You and Ben are very fond of Merle, aren't you?"

"Yeah," said Dylan. "He's family to us now."

"I have to admit, I'm surprised," said Andrea. "Merle's not a cuddly little bunny."

Dylan laughed. "Underneath it all, he is. You'll see."

"Looking forward to it," said Andrea.

Dylan looked at the gun on her hip. "Nice," he said, admiringly.

"Thanks," said Andrea. "I noticed yours too. Beretta?" she asked.

"Good eye," said Dylan, approvingly. "Looks like Andrea knows a thing or two about guns Ben. Should give you two something to talk about," he said to his brother.

"You know a lot about guns, Ben?" asked Andrea.

"He's been shooting almost as long as he's been walking," said Dylan. "He even talks about guns in his sleep. Last night he was moaning about stocks and chamber rounds," he said, chuckling.

"Really?" asked Andrea. "You shot guns that early in life?"

Ben grinned. "First it was BB's. Then, I shot a .22 for a good long while before I was allowed to handle anything else. Kickback's a bitch for small people."

"I hear that," said Andrea, smiling.

"Are you a good shot, Andrea?" asked Dylan.

Daryl and Carol burst into giggles behind them. "Way better than she used to be. Although back then I was kinda glad you were a piss poor shot," said Daryl.

"What happened?" asked Dylan, looking confused.

"Long story," said Andrea, laughing.

"She shot me," said Daryl.

Dylan and Ben's eyes widened in disbelief. "What?" they said in unison.

"Thank you Reader's Digest version!" she said, playfully punching Daryl in the shoulder. "I GRAZED him. Big difference. I thought he was a walker!"

"Yeah, yeah likely story," Daryl teased.

Andrea giggled. "Hey you got a lot of sympathy due to that as I recall. So you're welcome."

Daryl laughed. "Oh yeah, it was all part of my plan. Although I told you next time you better not miss. Don't forget that."

Andrea laughed. "Okay deal."

Dylan smiled. "Well any target practice has to be done way outside of Argent. We have a no shooting rule."

"Strictly enforced!" Merle said from the front of the line. "And that includes you Blondie. I don't care how cute ya look shootin'."

Andrea put her hands up. "I won't argue. I can get up close and personal."

Merle turned around and flashed her a grin.

"I meant with the walkers, Merle," she said rolling her eyes.

Merle laughed. "I'll break ya down someday Blondie."

"More like cause me to have a breakdown," she said back.

Merle stopped in his tracks.

"Oh come on Merle, I was just kidding," said Andrea.

"Shhhh," said Merle, pointing to his left.

The group listened carefully to the sounds of footsteps. "Walker, human or animal?" Andrea whispered to Daryl.

"Walkers. About a bakers dozen by the sounds of it so look alive people," he said, raising his crossbow. "You stay behind me," he said to Carol.

"That goes for you too Ben," said Dylan, tugging his axe from his belt loop. The boy nodded and held his rifle steady. The first of the herd came into view. They stumbled at the six of them, suddenly revitalized by the discovery of a fresh meal.

Merle pulled the fire poker from the waist of his jeans. He turned to Daryl and offered a mischievous grin. "Let's give these assholes a good ole fashioned Georgia ass whoopin'," he said, winking.

Andrea extracted her knife from the sheath on her belt and charged forward at a large male walker. She ducked as it lunged for her, and then swung behind it, ramming the knife just under the base of its skull. Next, she kicked an approaching female walker in the chin, causing it to fall backwards. Andrea then straddled it and plunged the knife into its left eye.

Daryl took down three more, while Merle grappled with two males. Dylan's axe fell on the heads of two walkers. A third approached from the right, as Dylan struggled to pull the axe blade from the head of his latest kill. He grunted as he struggled. "Shit," he said, when the third walker came screeching at him. He kicked it in the stomach, buying himself mere seconds. The hungry walker quickly recovered and once again came after Dylan.

Ben noticed his brother struggling and decided to disobey the elder's orders to stay behind him. He let his rifle go and raised his bow, firing an arrow through the walker's right eye. The beast fell on its back with a thud.

Dylan finally got his axe free and looked at Ben with wide eyes. "Nice!" he said to his little brother. Ben smiled proudly as he removed the arrow. However, his moment of celebration was cut short when he realized that the now dead walker's eye was still perched at the end of the arrow. He gagged as he removed it with his boot. His confidence boost encouraged him to aim and fire at another female walker as it ambled towards Andrea. He aimed for the walker's right eye was once again successful in hitting his target.

Dylan rushed to assist Merle, who was standing over a recently killed walker, with another fast approaching from behind. He ran up to the clumsy monster and brought the axe down on its head. "Thanks kiddo," said Merle, removing his fire poker from the downed creature underneath him.

"Anytime Merle," said Dylan.

Daryl and Andrea teamed up against the last walker, knocking it to the ground and bashing its head in with their boots. The group stood for a few moments, catching their breath and listening for any stragglers that may have been lurking about. Once satisfied that the walkers were taken care of, they gathered their things. As Daryl collected his arrows, he watched Ben doing the same. He smiled at the boy. "You sure put that bow to good use," he said. "Nicely done."

"Thanks!" said Ben, cheerfully. "Merle was the one who taught me how to use it. He practiced with me for hours." He looked over at Merle, who smiled at him with pride in his eyes.

Daryl playfully rubbed Ben's bald head. "Yeah he's good like that sometimes." The Dixon brothers shared a knowing expression before Daryl turned to Carol. "You okay there, Miss Carol?" he asked.

She nodded. "I'll be even better when we get to our destination."

"Won't be too much longer," Dylan said reassuringly. He looked over at Andrea and folded his arms. "Nice moves out there," he said. "Merle said you were feisty but he didn't say you were a freaking badass."

Andrea chuckled. "I do my best. Speaking of badasses, you're nothing to sneeze at with that axe, my friend."

"What is this, the damn compliment brigade?" asked Merle. "I'm gettin' hungry. Instead of standin' around, pattin' ourselves on the back, we should be gettin' a move on."

Andrea gave Merle a sly look. "Well I was just about to praise your performance today but if you don't want to hear it, then…"

Merle giggled. "Stick with me, honey and my performance out here ain't gonna be the only thing ya gonna praise, I tell you what."

"And we're done here," said Andrea, shaking her head and walking back to the trail.

Dylan raised an eyebrow at Merle and bit his lower lip.

"What?" asked Merle. "Got somethin' to say, axe man?"

"Someone has a crush on Andrea," said Dylan in a singsong voice.

Merle kicked Dylan in the behind. "Oh yeah? Well, someone better get his Yankee butt back on the trail 'fore he gets a whoopin'!" He looked over at Daryl, whose shoulders shook with laughter. "Oh shut up!"

"I didn't say nothin'!" said Daryl, walking back to the trail.

"Let's keep it that way," said Merle, trying not to smile.


	12. Chapter 12

12

***Domestic life, animal husbandry, zombie popsicles and an unexpected dinner guest…hope you like chicken!

Nearly three weeks had gone by since Daryl, Andrea and Carol came to live in Argent. January began with a severe cold snap, even by Georgia standards. The area was pummeled with frigid temperatures and icy winds. Daryl vigilantly kept the wood burning stove filled, and watches were staggered so one person didn't have to be out on the roof any longer than ninety minutes at a time.

For the most part, things were quiet. Everyone got along well and settled into their new living situations without a hitch. It was universally agreed that everyone got equal say as opposed to appointing one person to lead the rest. So far, that plan worked well. Daryl seemed very content, really only raising his voice when Merle got under his skin. However, their scuffles were usually brief and the rest of the residents found them rather humorous. In fact, Daryl was discovered to be quite the comedian when he wasn't weighed down by worry and fear for his group. When allowed to relax, he was typically the cause of most of the hijinks and the laughter that inevitably ensued.

It was one early January morning when Daryl was putting his comic chops to the test. Dylan and Ben awoke to the sounds of chickens clucking furiously outside. "What the hell?" asked Ben, rubbing his eyes. "Why do I hear chickens?"

Suddenly Andrea's laughter permeated the air. "Go get 'em Daryl!" she cried.

The boys exchanged amused looks. Daryl was once again up to something. They slipped out of their blankets and pulled their boots on. They exited the back door of the pub and saw quite a spectacle. Twenty or so chickens ran madly around the ground while Daryl chased them. It was a cacophony of clucks, chatters, feathers and Daryl huffing and laughing at the same time. "Come here ya little buggers!" he hollered. He ran at top speed, attempting to scoop the panicked animals up in his arms. He seemed to be focused on one in particular and tried to outwit the creature as it zigzagged across the ground. He'd get just close enough to it, before the determined animal would stop in it's tracks, causing Daryl to tumble forward, his legs flailing and arms reaching for the elusive critter.

Merle sat atop the pub's roof, laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes. "Go on boy! You can do better than that! Come on Chicken Charlie! Whoo!" After several hilarious trips and falls, Daryl finally nabbed the target of his desire, holding it in the air and celebrating his victory with some sort of goofy dance, which made Dylan and Merle howl with laughter. Andrea and Carol cheered as Daryl walked over to an old meat freezer behind the pub. "Mornin' boys," he said, grinning broadly and holding up the disgruntled animal. "Say hi to your new alarm clock."

Dylan laughed hysterically, as Ben's eyes were wide and fixed upon Daryl. "I've never seen that before. I didn't think anyone could actually catch a chicken with their bare hands."

"This one here is the rooster actually," said Daryl, holding the maroon colored male against his chest. "He'll calm down in a second once I put him in with his ladies." He then opened a meat freezer revealing two nervous rust colored females. "If we ever wanna make more chickens, this bad boy will be important," he said, dropping the male into the freezer with the two hens. The three birds huddled against each other, looking warily at Daryl and the boys.

"How do you know that one is the rooster?" asked Ben.

"Check out the top of his head," said Daryl, pointing at the male. "That bid red thing on it's called a comb. His is much bigger than the ladies. And that thing he's got hangin' down from his chin is a wattle. Plus he's taller and slimmer than his girlfriends are."

"They're all his girlfriends?" Ben asked.

Daryl nodded. "Yep. He'll mate with all of 'em."

"Lucky bastard," called Merle from the roof.

"He works for his spoils," said Daryl, chuckling. "He protects the flock against danger. Roosters can be real sumbitches if someone tries to mess with his girls."

Andrea and Carol remained amidst the chicken pandemonium out on the grass. Soon, the chickens settled and began grazing just near Carol and Andrea's feet, as if nothing had ever happened. The women waved at the boys. "Mornin'," said Carol. "Never a dull moment with Daryl around, is it?"

"I hear that Miss Carol," called Dylan. He turned to Daryl. "How the heck did they not all freeze to death?"

"Nah they're fine," said Daryl. "These two chickens and the rooster here are called Rhode Island Reds. They're tough birds. They can survive the cold better than you'd think. Looks like they escaped their coop a long time ago. They like to stick together so they've probably just been wanderin' around eatin' whatever they can pick outta the grass. Although eatin' probably hasn't been all that great lately. But we haven't had much snow cover so they've been makin' due, I'm sure." He nodded to the freezer and smiled. "Hope ya'll like eggs."

Ben and Dylan nodded enthusiastically. The boys were constantly impressed by Daryl's extensive knowledge of animals. He could name any of the different animal visitors, as well as speak to their behavior, mating habits and diet. He was like a walking field guide of North American animals. "Won't the rooster be too loud?" Ben asked.

Daryl shook his head. "It won't be too bad. He'll be quiet at night and we always got someone on watch during the day. But I don't think he'll cause a problem."

"What about the rest of the chickens?" Dylan asked.

Daryl looked back at the group of them, cheerfully ambling around. "They'll wander off eventually," said Daryl. "If I can get a hold of a couple more we can have chicken dinners for the next week. We'll store the meat outside and secure it so nothin' gets at it."

Ben looked at Daryl nervously. "You mean you'd, like, break their necks or chop their heads off or something?"

"That's how it's usually done," said Daryl, folding his arms and looking at Ben with raised eyebrows. "Three weeks ago I saw you shoot two walkers in the eye with an arrow. Chickens is where you're gonna draw the line?"

Ben shifted uncomfortably on his feet for a few seconds. "Well, yeah, I mean… actually wait. Arrows! I'll get my bow and get them! That way they go quick and I'll be spared any nightmares."

Daryl laughed. "Alright have it your way. Get about four if you can. If the temperatures keep we can store the meat outside no problem. My next order of business is buildin' a coop."

"How you gonna build a coop dummy?" called Merle from the roof. "Do ya even know where to start?"

Daryl rolled his eyes. "Well we can't just leave 'em in an old broke-down freezer. If you got any bright ideas, feel free to share."

"Actually," interjected Dylan. "I have an idea if you're interested."

"I'm all ears," said Daryl, as he watched Ben emerge from the pub with his bow and get himself settled into the field roughly twenty feet away from the chickens. Carol and Andrea preferred not to watch the massacre so they made their way back over to Dylan and Daryl.

"Well," said Dylan. "There's an old cupola out behind the white house. It's way in the back past the shed. It looks like it was part of the existing structure, but I bet it would make a great coop. Hopefully the wood's not rotted out. But if it is we can reinforce it with some of the pieces of their back deck. Those are still in very good shape."

"Listen to you, it's like watchin' _This Old House_ or somethin'," said Daryl, playfully pushing him. "I think it's a great idea. Only thing is, we're gonna have to move it about three hundred feet back to the pub. We'll have to think about how we're gonna do that."

Dylan got dressed and left the pub to join Daryl. Ben walked up to Daryl, proudly holding up four dead chickens by their feet. Daryl turned to Carol and Andrea, his mouth twisted in a grin. "Ya'll mind de-feathering them while we take care of the coop?"

Surprisingly, Carol took the chickens from Ben without skipping a beat. "Come on Andrea. It's not so bad, I'll show you how," she said, bringing the animals over to the picnic table.

"Can't be much worse than cleaning fish," said Andrea shrugging. She patted Ben and Daryl on their shoulders. "Thanks for securing some good eats for us, gentlemen."

While Ben went on a search for anything to feed the chickens, Dylan and Daryl strolled over to the woods behind the white house, inspecting the cupola. It's once crisp white paint had chipped away, leaving exposed wood below. "Wood's a little grey. I bet I could find some deck stain or sealant, but we'd be smart to wait to apply it until it gets warmer outside."

Daryl nodded. "Help me tip it on its side."

Dylan obeyed and when the structure was rested on its side, Daryl used a flashlight to inspect the interior. "Well, the good news is, no beehive in here. That would have ruined our chances of using this thing. It's set up inside in such a way that we could actually do two stories, which will be nice. How do you think the wood has held up?"

"Looks good," said Dylan. "Now we've got to decide how we're going to move it."

"Could tow it with the bike," Daryl suggested. "Or we could have Andrea and Ben help us drag it."

"Let's try dragging it first. The bike might attract unwanted guests," said Dylan.

After nearly an hour of grunting, groaning and light coaching from Merle, the cupola made it's way to its new spot, just fifteen feet from the back of the pub. Dylan and Ben gathered brush while Daryl created a second story entrance/exit for the chickens. The brush was placed inside to provide a warm nesting area for the animals. Andrea lined the bottom with bricks and rocks, more for aesthetics than support.

Merle switched places with Carol on watch so he could assist everyone in fencing off the area around the coop. The fence itself was a composite of many different materials, including a four-foot section of chain link fence, slats from the deck with old pieces of window screens, and even some rocks that Andrea fashioned into part rock wall, part fence. A gate was constructed by using an old porch door found on the side of one of the houses, which Dylan reinforced with additional deck slats. Finally, Daryl used a few short pieces of the chain link fence to make little doors for the first and second floor entrances of the coop. "What's nice about this cupola, is its mostly enclosed," he said, as Ben watched him work. "That way, other animals have less of a chance of gettin' in and nabbin' our hens or their eggs."

The group stood back, admiring their work. "Not bad for a last minute assembly," said Daryl. "I say we take the chickens to their new home."

"Can we name them?" asked Ben, excitedly.

"Sure," said Daryl. "We ain't gonna eat these ones. May as well."

Daryl showed Dylan and Ben how to carefully hold the birds by their feet during transport. The females were placed in the coop while the rooster was given the small area of grass to explore. The male proudly strutted around his new domicile, milling around Daryl's feet for a meal.

Ben brought over crushed corn flakes and sunflower seeds. "We'll find some chicken feed at one of these farms around here tomorrow," promised Daryl. "For now, this'll keep 'em happy." Once the food was scattered on the ground the rooster signaled to the females by clucking that there was food in the area. The two females happily made their way out of the coop and began pecking at the exciting new treats.

Two additional chickens caught wind of the goings-on and strolled over to the fence, interested in a meal. Daryl smiled and opened the gate, allowing the two curious chickens in. "Well look at that, we got two more girlfriends for ya buddy," he said to the rooster.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

By two in the afternoon, the rest of the chickens had wandered off and the five new residents of Argent were enjoying an easy transition into their new home. Despite the desire for a short nap after the day's events, Daryl enlisted Dylan in a quick inspection of the perimeter first.

Dylan reveled in attending perimeter checks with Daryl. The man was an expert tracker and Dylan soaked up everything Daryl taught him like a sponge. Occasionally Daryl would give Dylan a pop quiz out in the field to test the young man's retention. "So," said Daryl, as they reached the outermost perimeter of Argent. "Anything jumpin' out at ya?"

Dylan scanned the ground, head cocking to the side in interest. "Yeah," he said softly. "Something took a walk just near here."

Daryl smiled. "Uh huh. But what?"

Dylan followed the tracks carefully. "It was a walker. Or someone who's seriously injured."

"Why do you think that?" asked Daryl, eyebrows raised, pleased that the young man seemed to be arriving at all the correct conclusions so far.

"Well," said Dylan. "One footfall is heavier than the other. The other foot appears to be dragging. And, wait…over here it just stops."

"Keep lookin'," said Daryl. "It'll come to ya."

Dylan furrowed his brow, trying to figure out how the footsteps could have just stopped short. He shook his head in frustration.

"Stand up and take a few steps back," said Daryl. "Get a better perspective."

Dylan obeyed, peering at the tracks and their abrupt disappearance. Then he saw it. "Drag marks!" he exclaimed. "Either he or she was dragged or dragged themselves." He looked at Daryl excitedly.

"We'll make a tracker outta you yet, kid," said Daryl. "Now let's figure out where our interloper went. It was only about twenty more feet before they found out. An individual lay on its stomach; legs splayed outwards, arms huddled under the head. It appeared to be male, and Daryl approached it, poking him with his boot. The individual did not stir. Next, Daryl reached down and attempted to turn it over on its back. He grunted as he pulled at its shoulder. "Dang," he said. "Frozen to the ground." Dylan assisted him and the solidified body came free from the ground, finally revealing its origins.

It was most certainly a walker, but fortunately, it was deceased. It's cloudy eyes remained open and its jaw was contorted, but no signs of life emanated from the creature. Dylan breathed a sigh of relief. Daryl only appeared to be more confused. "Where the hell's the head injury?" he asked, poking around the body. He turned it over twice, not seeing any sort of deathblow near the skull, under the chin or through the eyes.

"Maybe through the mouth?" Dylan suggested.

Daryl scratched his head. "I don't know. Maybe."

Dylan began looking around nervously. "That means that if someone killed it they could still be wandering around here. With others."

"IF someone killed it at all," said Daryl.

Dylan and Daryl exchanged uneasy looks. Dylan went to the creature and brought his axe down on its forehead. When he stood up, he saw Daryl's expression. "Just in case," said Dylan, shrugging.

"Probably best," said Daryl.

Just then, another female walker approached from behind a tree. Her clothes had nearly disintegrated off of her body, leaving only a faded red shirt and the majority of what was once a denim skirt. She sluggishly came towards Daryl and Dylan, seemingly disinterested in the humans before she unexpectedly fell forward onto her knees, vomiting up a black tar-like substance.

Dylan cringed, raising his axe. "Wait," said Daryl.

"Why?" Dylan asked.

"You ever see a walker puke before?" asked Daryl.

"No," said Dylan.

"And look," said Daryl, as the creature regurgitated more of the thick substance. "She has no interest in us. I think…I think she might actually be dyin'."

Dylan looked incredulous. "What? But she's already dead. Or undead or whatever you call it. How is that possible?"

"Maybe it's the cold, or maybe they're finally starving to death. I mean, think about it, how long you think these things can survive without food?"

Dylan shrugged. "You make a good point. But I still don't know why you won't just let me take her out."

The creature fell face forward, wheezing and barely struggling. Daryl watched her intently. "I wonder how much longer she has left," he said softly.

"About three seconds," said Dylan, again raising his axe.

Daryl grabbed his right forearm. "I have a crazy idea."

"That's the last thing I wanted to hear," said Dylan.

"I think we should take her back to Argent and put her in front of the woodstove," said Daryl.

"I stand corrected. THAT was the last thing I wanted to hear," said Dylan.

"Come on man," said Daryl. "We can see if it's the cold doing this to them or if they really are starvin' to death. If walkers are dyin' off, that changes things for humans everywhere. Don't you wanna see what happens? If these things actually die, that means we have hope of actually livin' a normal life someday. Wouldn't you wanna know?"

Dylan watched the pitiable thing on the ground and sighed. "We're going to have to secure her very carefully," said Dylan. "And don't expect everyone back in Argent to welcome us with open arms after we ruin a perfectly good chicken dinner by bringing home a walker with a stomach virus. Daryl, I think this is a REALLY bad idea."

"Hell, I think it's a bat-shit crazy idea, but we're doin' it," said Daryl. "I gotta know the outcome." He turned the female over on her back and wrapped her hair around his fingers. The walker didn't struggle as Daryl dragged her by the hair back into Argent.


	13. Chapter 13

13

**Thanks for reading!

Andrea had taken over after Carol's watch so she could help Merle prepare one of the chickens on the grill. She stood atop the roof of the pub, watching Daryl and Dylan return from securing the perimeter. She squinted into the binoculars. Was Daryl…dragging something? She thought perhaps he'd gotten lucky with his crossbow at first, but gulped in trepidation when she saw that the body trailing behind Daryl's was not an animal, but human.

"Merle!" she called from the roof. "Something's wrong. Daryl's got a body with him. Human. A woman."

"Stay here," he said to Ben and Carol. He grabbed his fire poker. "Andrea be my eyes," he said running in Daryl and Dylan's direction.

Ben climbed up on the roof with Andrea, his grey eyes full of alarm. She put a reassuring arm around his shoulder but felt her entire body tingling with tension. She watched Merle, Daryl and Dylan engage in a spirited argument before Merle appeared to shake his head and abruptly withdraw from the discussion.

The three walked back, female body still trailing behind Daryl. "Bring her over here so everyone can see her," said Merle in an irritated tone. "Not that she's anything to write home about." Andrea and Ben peered over the side of the roof and Carol covered her mouth with her hands. The group watched, horrified, as Daryl dragged the woman just behind the pub. The only thing moving was her chest, as it slowly raised and lowered with each raspy breath. Her milky eyes simply stared at the sky as if she was drunk.

"Daryl if this is your idea of a joke…" started Andrea.

Daryl held up his hand. "Hear me out ya'll. I think she's dyin'. Starvin' to death. Either that or the cold is gettin' to the walkers."

"They have been really weak and sluggish for awhile now, especially since the weather turned," said Dylan. "As crazy as I think Daryl's idea is I have to admit that I'd like to know the truth about what's going on."

"And just what is this crazy idea going to involve?" asked Andrea.

"Dummy One and Dummy Two wanna chain her inside the pub and get her nice and cozy by the fire!" hollered Merle, scowling.

"What?" Andrea asked. "Oh come on guys, this is really pushing it! That's where we all sleep. Have you two been out eating strange plants or something? Why not let her snuggle under a sleeping bag with one of us for crying out loud?"

"Andrea," said Dylan. "Look I agree with you. But if we get her by the wood stove for awhile and she perks up, then we'll know it's the cold and to expect all the world's walkers to be back to normal by Spring. But, if she dies by that fire, we'll know for sure these things can potentially starve to death."

"There was another out near the outer edges. A male," said Daryl. "He was frozen to the ground, dead as a doornail. We couldn't find any entrance wounds in the head or eyes. I think it died on it's own."

"I got him with the axe just in case, but maybe we should do this experiment. It could be really significant," said Dylan.

Merle, Carol, Ben and Andrea all looked at each other skeptically. "Merle?" said Andrea, locking eyes with the man for a brief moment.

The man scratched his head and watched the woman on the ground before offering an exasperated sigh. He looked at Dylan and Daryl. "You two assholes go get the chains from behind the bar. And I tell you what, this was ya'lls brainchild so the two of you get to stay up and watch her all night. Jesus Christ," he muttered as he walked back over to the grill. "Just one goddamn chicken dang dinner is all I ask!"

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

"That should do it," said Dylan, securing the second padlock near the walker woman's hands. They had chained her to a metal beam just near the wood-burning stove. "If that doesn't hold her I don't know what will."

Daryl agreed. "After we eat, we'll sit by her and see how she does."

"She wouldn't be the ugliest date ya ever had Daryl," said Merle from behind them. His arms were folded across his chest and he looked as if he wasn't as annoyed as he was earlier.

Daryl stood and walked to his brother. "I know you're pissed but thanks for goin' along with this."

Merle softened. "Yeah well its only 'cause of ya acquisition of them chickens that I'm swallowin' my protests. Now go on you two. Wash up. Time to eat," said Merle, slapping them both in the back of the head as they walked by.

Despite the precarious situation inside the pub, the group thoroughly enjoyed their chicken meal. Normally they'd eat inside due to the cold, but the ambience in there left a lot to be desired. So they settled for the picnic table just outside.

Andrea bit into a drumstick and closed her eyes. "That is amazing," she purred.

Merle chuckled. "You know Blondie when I hear you goin' on like that…"

"Merle," warned Andrea. "Let me enjoy my meal without becoming nauseous please."

"You and Merle did a great job cooking up this chicken Carol," said Dylan.

"I give it five out of five stars," said Ben, taking a hearty bite of breast meat.

"Thank you my boy," said Merle, patting Ben on the shoulder.

"Nothin' like fresh chickens," said Daryl. "And fresh eggs. Wait till ya'll get a taste of those."

"Have you decided what you want to name the chickens Ben?" asked Carol, smiling.

"Not yet," said Ben. "I want to get to know their personalities a little better first."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

When they arrived back inside the pub, the walker's head was pitched forward onto her chin. More black vomit gathered in a pool on her thighs. Daryl got up close to her and listened. "Still breathin'," said Daryl. "But barely."

Merle took his blankets and went to his usual spot, which was so close to the wood stove that he may as well have been on top of it. He looked at Daryl and Dylan. "Have fun tonight you two. I'll just be over here, gettin' a good night's sleep."

"You'll probably be the only one," said Andrea, lying between Carol and Ben. "I'll have one eye open all night."

"Relax ya'll," said Daryl sitting down on the floor, crossbow in front of him. "Ain't got nothin' to worry about."

"Besides the flesh eatin' monster eight feet away? Noooo," said Merle, rolling his eyes and turning over.

After several hours of watching the creature deteriorate even further, Daryl got up off the floor. "Shhh," he said to Dylan, as he walked over to the female. Dylan gulped when he saw Daryl reach for his knife. He jumped up when Daryl turned the knife on himself and sliced into his forearm.

"What are you doing?" mouthed Dylan, heart thrumming in his ears.

"An experiment," whispered Daryl. Red blood tricked forth on his forearm. He brought it up under the nose of the walker. Dylan rushed to him and placed his hands firmly on Daryl's shoulders, ready to yank him away at any given moment. "Careful she doesn't puke on your open cut," warned Dylan.

Daryl nodded. "I'll make sure she don't."

The three sat there like stone statues for several minutes. The walker did nothing at the smell of the blood besides dry heave. To Dylan's relief, Daryl finally pulled away. Dylan released his grip on the man's shoulders as he stood up and got a towel for his arm. He looked back at the walker, shrugged and sat back down, pulling his crossbow into his lap.

"So, she didn't want your man meat?" whispered Merle from across the room. "Don't feel bad. We all get rejected sometimes."

"Thought you was sleepin'," said Daryl.

"I know my dumbass brother too well," said Merle, softly. "I knew you'd try somethin' stupid like what you just did."

Daryl scoffed. The way you make it sound I'm ALWAYS doin' somethin' stupid."

"Eh, it's not really that. I guess it's," started Merle. "Well you were just the most curious child growin' up. Always into somethin' or tryin' figure somethin' out. You'd take shit apart just to see the insides of it. Ya caused all sorts of trouble. I thought Momma was gonna kill ya after ya took apart her toaster, the vacuum cleaner and her little kitchen television all in the same year."

Daryl chuckled. "The only thing she was pissed about was the dang television. Not like she used the toaster or the vacuum cleaner. Ever. Oh scratch that…she used the toaster to whack me on both my hands and then you on the back of the head for lettin' me take the dang thing apart in the first place."

Merle sighed. "Yeah. She was one crazy ass bitch, I tell you what. I mean Pop was a sloppy drunk but Momma…she was just mixed nuts."

"What happened to them? Your parents…what happened?" whispered Dylan.

Daryl broke eye contact with Dylan and looked at his feet. "You don't wanna hear about them, kid. They're both in the ground now. They ain't anybody's problem no more."

Dylan looked over at Merle, who was gazing somberly at Daryl. His eyes looked moist and dejected. He did this for a long moment before finally pulling the blankets over his head and turning over.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The next morning, the group gathered around the walker. The room was eerily quiet, save for the light breathing of everyone in the pub. Andrea bent down and listened intently to the walker, even placing a gloved hand on her chest to gauge her breathing. After a few moments, she pulled her hand away slowly. "She's gone," confirmed Andrea, noting the female walker no longer took air into her lungs. She looked up at Daryl. "I can't believe it. They actually die by starvation. This is huge. This is just so…" she said, suddenly getting choked up. She closed her eyes and Dylan and Ben watched as fresh tears slipped through her tightly closed lids. "Excuse me," she said, abruptly standing up and exiting the back door to the pub.

Carol went to follow her. "Wait. Let me Carol, " said Dylan, pulling on his sweatshirt and walking to the back door. Ben grabbed his coat and followed his older brother.

A blast of cold air hit their faces as they stepped outside. They watched Andrea as she sat facing away from them on the picnic table. Her whole body shuddered as she sobbed, head in her hands. Dylan thought she looked so small sitting there like that. Tiny clouds of air emerged from her mouth and nose against the cold morning.

The boys approached and sat on either side of her. Both had no intention of speaking, only to offer quiet support. Ben broke the first physical barrier by laying his head on her left shoulder. The gesture ceased her crying for a moment as she looked down at Ben's freckled face. She offered a teary eyed smile to him and turned to Dylan, taking his hand in hers. Dylan squeezed it gently, amber eyes full of sympathy.

She exhaled. "As I was sitting out here I realized it's been so long since I've cried. I was just so overjoyed knowing that this nightmare might actually end that I forgot, just for a minute, how much it has cost me."

Dylan moved close enough to her so that their legs were touching. "Tell us."

Her forehead crinkled. "My sister Amy…she wasn't much older than you Dylan. She was a beautiful girl. She was loving and kind and had long blonde hair with skin like a porcelain doll. Ben, your skin reminds me of hers. She had those cute little freckles too," she said looking down at Ben. "Amy was taken from me over the summer. She was fatally wounded by a walker and bled out while I held her in my arms. She was all I had left in this world. When I saw her, lying on the ground, taking her last breaths, I," she broke off. "I felt as though I was dying too. When she reanimated she came to consciousness very slowly. I know this sounds so strange but I remember thinking, 'God, she's still so beautiful'. Her skin was still smooth and perfect. She looked so delicate, you know?"

Dylan put his arm around her. "What happened after she woke up Andrea?" he asked, his throat tight.

"I held her and told her I was there for her. And then I shot her," she said, choking back more sobs. "I shot her," she whispered again. "She could never be a monster. Not Amy."

Dylan peered over at Ben, only seeing his dark hair as he leaned on Andrea's shoulder. What Andrea described would have been Dylan's worst nightmare come true. He wondered how the woman next to him was still getting out of bed every day, still fighting. How did she rise up above something like that?

"I wanted to die," she continued, as if reading Dylan's mind. "For so long. I just wanted to cease to exist. So I wouldn't have to feel the pain anymore. So I wouldn't have to have the nightmares or miss her to the point that I felt physical pain."

Dylan nodded, his eyes glimmering under tears. He'd been in that dark place himself after his family died. He felt the same pain that Andrea had described. However, he never wanted to die. Dying simply wasn't an option. He knew for certain that this was solely because of Ben. Through Ben, Dylan had his purpose in life. He had his course to navigate. He was set. But if Ben were to suffer the same fate as Amy, Dylan felt he might simply fade away, disintegrating until he was a shell like the frozen walker in the woods.

But then there was Merle.

And now Daryl, Carol and Andrea. They were his family now too.

"Amy is an angel," Ben said, suddenly.

Andrea looked at him with wide eyes. "You think so Ben?"

"Yes, definitely," said Ben, nodding. The timbre of his voice was still that of a child's, making the statement even more poignant. "She even looks like an angel by the way you describe her. She's in Heaven right now, watching over you. She's watching over all of us because we're your family now too. Just like my mom and dad and brother and sister are doing."

Suddenly Andrea broke into a smile. "You think Amy's watching over all of us? Even Merle?"

Ben grinned. "Oh especially Merle. He needs a little extra watching sometimes."

Andrea giggled, wiping the last of her tears away. She sniffed and touched both boys' cheeks as they laid their heads on her shoulders. "You know something? It's only about seven in the morning and I've already had one of the best days I've had in a long time." She felt the boys smile against her.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Daryl, Andrea and Merle took care of the dead walker, still taking the added precaution of destroying her brain before putting her into the ground. The boys trained and then fed the hens and rooster. Ben excitedly gathered seven eggs from the coop and gave them to Carol.

They enjoyed a lively meal of scrambled eggs and talked about the future like they never had before. Daryl plotted out an area for a massive garden that would be created in the Spring. Merle suggested some fruit trees and possibly moving into the houses once the world was more secure. Carol asked Daryl and Dylan to create an outdoor cooking shelf for her. Andrea mused about having cows on the property, which Ben was quite enthusiastic about. Not one person suggested leaving Argent. The little village was now their world.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

In early February, Merle sat on top of the roof of the pub, puffing on a cigar. He watched Andrea and Carol sew clothes and boots while Dylan and Ben cleaned and managed the coop.

Merle sighed as he watched Daryl strolling the perimeter of Argent; senses always keen to danger no matter what. To Merle, Daryl had never been so happy before. As a child, his parents, often through violence and verbal abuse, always stifled his intelligence and curiosity. As a man, it had made him sullen and even bitter at times. Merle admitted that he himself was guilty of suppressing his brother, even trying to instill a damaged moral code in the man. Merle's values had changed drastically in the months since sickness took over the world. He had changed so much, especially after he formed a relationship with the Murray boys. He had feared, however, that Daryl would never find happiness due to the challenges he'd faced throughout his life.

However, since coming to Argent, Merle so that old spark in Daryl's blue eyes again. It was a spark Merle only saw when Daryl was allowed to be himself and really shine. To Merle, Daryl was a light in the darkness. Others had tried to extinguish that light, but it never died. It simply got low and dull for a time. Now the light was once again, a healthy, glowing flame.

They had not seen another walker in Argent since the female that passed away in the pub a month earlier. There was no contact made from the military or local authorities, and Merle was convinced that they probably would never see a uniform in Argent, which didn't bother him in the least. In fact, he'd be content to never see another human again at all. He was happy to have the family he'd created. That's really all he needed.

Just as he took a sip of his coffee, he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He lifted his binoculars and focused them due North. His jaw set. "Dammit." He slammed his fist against the concrete.

"Dammit!"


	14. Chapter 14

14

***I can't believe this is almost over. Just another couple of chapters. Kind of makes me sad :-( I do thank you for reading, commenting and alerting. I'm having a great time telling this tale and I appreciate you going on the journey with me!

Merle whistled to Daryl and pointed south. Through the binoculars, Merle could see the alarm on his brother's face. He lowered the binoculars and called to Andrea, who was soon on the roof, with a smirk. "The things you do just to be alone with me Merle. I swear, you…" She cut off when she saw the look of concern on the man's face. "Merle what is it?"

He gave her the binoculars. She hesitated in taking them. "It's Grimes," said Merle, nudging the binoculars at her. "Him, Glenn and the boy, Carl. That's it," he said gravely.

Andrea finally took the binoculars and peered through them. Daryl had met up with them at this point. From what Andrea could gather, the discussion was highly emotional. "Oh God," she said. "It's just them. The rest of the group is gone," she said, lowering her head.

Merle placed his hand on her shoulder. She put a warm hand on his. "We can't turn them away," she said.

Merle nodded. "I know. We'll find a place for 'em."

Dylan and Ben watched Rick, Glenn and Carl follow Daryl into Argent. Daryl looked like he'd been punched in the stomach. Glenn, Rick and Carl looked simply hopeless. Dylan peered at Merle on the roof. "What's up?" he mouthed to him. Merle shook his head and closed his eyes. Dylan gulped.

"I'll put on more coffee," said Carol, behind them. Her eyes were fixed upon the three new arrivals.

"I'd get out the whiskey instead Miss Carol," said Merle, coming down off the roof with Andrea in tow. "Coffee don't look like it'll make a dent."

Carol nodded and went inside the pub. When the four of them got to the back of the pub, everyone stood in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Ben stayed close to Dylan, occasionally looking to his older brother for some form of encouragement. However, Dylan kept his eyes glued to Rick, silently urging the man to speak. Rick only stood stone still, his hands on Carl's shoulders. His face was covered in cuts and black and purple bruises, as was Glenn's. One of Glenn's eyes was so swollen that it was shut.

Finally, Andrea broke the silence. "Glenn," she whispered, putting her hands on his chest. "What happened?"

Glenn made several attempts to speak but found he couldn't summon the fortitude. Daryl stepped in for him. "Randall's group ambushed them at the plant two nights ago. Rick, Glenn and Carl are the only ones who made it out alive," he said, his voice gravelly.

Andrea covered her mouth in horror. "No," she said, shaking her head. "Oh God."

Merle hung his head. "I'm so sorry ya'll," he said in a near whisper.

"We, um," started Glenn. "We found you purely by accident. We've just been walking for two days. Wandering, really. We didn't have a plan."

Daryl and Merle exchanged glances. "You're welcome to stay here," said Merle, finally. He looked around at the rest of the group and saw that no one disagreed.

Rick set his jaw and swallowed. "Thank you," he said hoarsely.

"Why don't you all go inside and clean up," suggested Dylan. "Ben will show you in. Carol's inside and she'll set you up with something to drink and a comfortable place to sit for awhile."

The three of them said quiet 'thank you's' and entered the back of the pub behind Ben. Once they were safely inside and out of earshot, Andrea, Dylan, Daryl and Merle huddled in a tight circle. "I can't believe this is actually happening. Lori… and the baby. And Maggie. These poor guys must feel like they've been ripped apart at the seams. Daryl what did they tell you?" asked Andrea.

Daryl shook his head. "I don't think you wanna hear it Andrea. I could barely stomach it myself."

"How did the three of them even make it out alive?" asked Dylan.

"Carl managed to hide somehow. Rick and Glenn were beaten unconscious. Randall's crew probably assumed them dead in the confusion and they finally took off. When Glenn and Rick came to, everyone was dead and they were stripped of their weapons and provisions," said Daryl.

Dylan felt such sympathy for them. He remembered all too well what it was like to have vicious men take his own family away. He suddenly felt guilty for mistrusting Rick and the others. They weren't bad people and he'd certainly never wish something so horrible to happen to them. "Maybe we should get them set up in one of the houses," he said. "You know, to let them grieve in private."

Andrea agreed. "I'll get the blue house set up for them," she said, setting off for the residences.

Daryl looked at Merle and Dylan with an expression that Dylan had not seen from him before. It was dark and threatening and lacked Daryl's usual mischievous flair. "Daryl what's going through your mind?" he asked.

Daryl waited a moment. "I'm thinkin' about doin' somethin' that should have been done a long time ago," he said darkly. He looked up at Merle. "I know you're on board big brother. Am I right?"

His older brother read him before turning to Dylan. "This other group is too dangerous and too close. Chances are they'll find their way to Argent," he said. "And that's just not an option as far as I'm concerned."

"The threat needs to be eliminated," said Daryl. "And soon."

"So what do you suggest?" asked Dylan.

"We ambush 'em," said Daryl. "Real early in the mornin'."

"There's nearly thirty of them," said Dylan.

"Bet the three of us could get in there real quiet. We take out the watchman first, then the rest is cake," said Daryl.

"I know my embarrassing lack of experience is showing here, but how do we stay quiet when killing thirty men?" asked Dylan.

Merle made a slicing motion with his index finger across his throat. "It's quick… and they can't scream."

Daryl nodded. "We could be rid of those assholes in just a few minutes. I say that's a good investment. It'll save us a lifetime of lookin' over our shoulders."

"Merle's famous Columbian necktie, huh?" said Dylan, looking at the closed pub door before turning back to the brothers. "I've got to play devil's advocate here. We've have to find these guys first. That could take awhile. Plus, we'd be leaving Argent in a weakened state. We've got two kids and Carol to think about. Rick and Glenn look like they couldn't go two rounds with a fruit fly and Andrea's tough but that's putting a lot on her."

Daryl shrugged. "Merle and I will talk to Andrea and Carol. We'll make them understand. They've been here long enough to know how to secure this place, especially with Ben here to help them. We'll just have to put a rush on this. We'll aim to be back in Argent in a week. I ain't waitin' for those assholes to come here."

"He's right," said Merle. "I'm damn tired of this. We may finally be rid of walkers, but that don't mean we won't have other threats to our home. Argent belongs to us. Those evil bastards don't deserve her."

Dylan considered the Dixon's proposal. Being rid of the menace of the large group would certainly lift the ever-present veil of anxiety. However what Daryl and Merle were proposing would leave Argent and it's residents vulnerable. Dylan had grown to trust the Dixon's implicitly and knew that their plan was most likely the best course of action, however. He inhaled. "Okay. I'm in. When do we leave?"

%%%%%%%%%%%%

Ben sat on a barstool with his arms folded, watching Dylan quietly pack. "When?"

"Before dawn tomorrow. Remember, Rick and Glenn know nothing about this so make sure you don't slip and say anything while we're gone," said Dylan.

"How long will you be gone?" asked Ben.

Dylan shrugged. "Hopefully no more than a week."

Ben frowned. "I still don't understand why I can't go too. Just because I'm a kid? That isn't a good enough excuse," he said.

Dylan sighed. "Ben I'm not risking your life. That's just the way it's got to be."

"And what if something happens to you? What am I supposed to do then?" Ben asked.

Dylan laid his backpack down on his blankets. He walked to Ben. "You hopefully live out a long, happy life," he said softly. "Why do you think I'm doing this? I have no other reason."

"A long happy life. Without my brother," Ben scoffed, looking down. "You're kidding me right? Tell me something. If I was gone, would you be excited about your so-called long, happy life?"

Dylan put his hands in his pockets. "You think I'm being a hypocrite."

"I think you're being selfish."

"What?" Dylan asked, eyes wide. "How could you say that? Ben, the only thing I ever worry about is your safety!"

"I know you do," said Ben, his eyes wet. "But don't you think it would kill me to lose you? You think because you go off with Merle and Daryl to save the rest of us, that it wouldn't leave a huge, gaping hole here if anything were to happen to you guys? I wish for your safety just as much as you need mine. There are two sides to the coin, here. Sure, you get the security of knowing I'm okay. But what about me? I need to know YOU'RE okay, Dyl."

Dylan bit his lower lip and sat down on one of the pub chairs. "I just want to do what's right. What's best for everyone, you know?" He sat, watching Ben from across the room. He leaned forward and stared at the floor, elbows resting on his knees.

"Dylan," said Ben, hopping of the stool and going to his brother. He knelt on the floor in front of him. "I know what you're doing. It's what you've been doing since the summer. You're trying to be Dad. You're trying to make every single decision based on what you know about him and what you think he would do. You're trying to be Dad's exact copy. It's understandable because he was an honorable, brave man. But you're not Dad. You're Dylan. I know you think he's watching you and I know you're afraid of disappointing him. But that's just not possible. Dad would be proud of you no matter what. You are the best person I know and I mean that. Dyl, losing Dad and Mom and Josh and Nat was awful. I've never felt so horrible in my life. But I came to terms with it. I—I honestly don't know if I could handle losing you of all people. I just don't know. I'm frikking terrified of you leaving here and possibly never coming back."

Still keeping his eyes to the ground, Dylan rubbed Ben's bald head before pulling his brother in close to him. He wiped tears away from his cheeks with the back of his hand. "You're getting smart in your old age, Mister twelve years old in a week," he said, smiling.

Ben looked up at him. "Yeah and I want you with me when I celebrate my birthday. I don't care where we are but I want to be with you."

Dylan gruffly rubbed Ben's head before kissing it and standing up. "I'll be back in a bit," he said.

"Where are you going?" Ben asked.

Dylan pulled on his sweatshirt and went to the back door of the pub. "Just something I've got to do."

%%%%%%%%%

It was late afternoon when Dylan arrived at the blue house. Andrea was just leaving as he came up the walkway. "How are they?" he asked her.

Andrea shook her head. "Glenn's barely choked out a word all afternoon. He's just staring off into space. Carl and Rick are about the same. I can't get them to take any food or liquids, either. I think I'll just leave them alone for the rest of the night."

"I was hoping to speak with Rick just for a few minutes before we leave tomorrow," said Dylan. "I won't stay long."

"Okay," said Andrea. "I'll see you at dinner."

The house was eerily quiet as Dylan made his way to the second floor. He passed Glenn's room on the way to see Rick and saw that he had curled himself into the fetal position on his bed.

He continued down the hall and saw Rick sitting at the edge of Carl's bed. The boy appeared to have finally dozed off. Rick was holding his hand, blue eyes trained on his son.

"Rick?" said Dylan softly.

Rick blinked and turned towards Dylan. "Hey," he whispered.

Dylan nodded. "Hey. Can I come sit with you for a few minutes?"

Rick cleared his throat. "Sure," he said, his voice still hoarse.

Dylan sat in the rocking chair facing the bed. Only a small amount of golden light still shone through the room from outside. "It's almost dark," said Dylan. "Do you want some candles?"

Rick shook his head. "Andrea gave us some but I just, I just want it to be dark." The lids of his eyes were puffy and leaden as he stared into the distance.

"I understand," said Dylan. "I know the feeling. I remember what it's like to want to be in the dark. To get completely swallowed up by it."

Rick looked at him. "You lost family?" he asked.

"My parents and my brother and sister," said Dylan. "Just Ben and I were spared."

"When?" Rick asked.

"Sometime in August," said Dylan. "My father and brother were murdered by a member of our own group that turned in a sort of mutiny. Walkers heard the scuffle and got my sister and mom."

"I'm sorry," whispered Rick.

"Thank you," said Dylan. "I'm sorry for your loss as well."

They sat in silence for a few moments. Dylan watched blue and grey shadows bleed into the room. "My father was a great man," started Dylan. "I know everyone probably says or thinks that about their dad, but I really believe that he was a very special person. He really respected us kids. He would always say, 'Treat your friends like family and your family like friends'. He really lived by that credo. He'd do anything to keep us safe. I'll probably spend the rest of my life trying to live up to the image I have of him, but there could be worse things I could do, you know?" Rick watched him intently. Carl's soft breathing could be heard. Rick still gripped the boy's hand.

"I owe you an apology," said Dylan.

Rick looked surprised. "Why?"

"I accused you of not being a good man. I was wrong to say that. I just wanted to defend Merle. I got so angry when I thought that someone had betrayed him. I've come to really love him and I felt like I was defending my family. What Merle experienced made me think of the man who turned on my father. I put you in the same category as that person and you didn't deserve that. I'm sorry."

Rick looked down. "Thank you for saying that. It means more to me than you'd know, actually." He ran his fingers through his hair. "I had a mutiny in my group too. Back in the fall."

"What happened?" asked Dylan.

"It was my best friend. Let's just say he saw things very differently than me. He got dangerous. Too dangerous to trust anymore." Rick swallowed. "He made his intentions clear one night when he led me away from the group into a field near the farm. It was either him or me."

Dylan's eyes widened. "You killed him?"

Rick nodded. He looked at Dylan. "You know what's strange? I don't hate him. I never did. I actually miss him. I loved him. No, I could never hate him," he whispered. "Not like the bastard that did what he did to my wife and baby. Him? I've never felt the hate that I do for another person. I don't think I ever will. The vision of him on top of Lori, I…" he said, choking back sobs. "Right before I blacked out, I saw everything. While that man was hurting my wife, two others were beating me senseless. I tried to hold on but I felt myself slipping away. One of the two backed off eventually, but the other one…he just kept hitting me. His intent was to beat me to death. I felt as though he'd accomplished his task. As I finally closed my eyes, the last thing I saw was that eagle. I'll never forget that damn stupid eagle."

"Eagle?" asked Dylan, his pulse suddenly quickening.

"Hmmm?" asked Rick, obviously his mind traveling elsewhere.

"You mentioned an eagle. What about it?" Dylan asked.

"On the inside of his right wrist," said Rick. "He had an eagle tattoo there."

Dylan's fist clenched. "Was, um, was the eagle holding a snake in its talons by any chance? And was there a long scar that cut through the center of the tattoo?"

Rick gulped. "Yes. Dylan? What is it?"

Dylan stood up, feeling as though his head was going to float away from his shoulders. "I know that man," he said, knees wobbly. "I'd be willing to bet that the eagle you spoke of was the last thing my father and brother saw before they got a bullet in each of their heads."

Rick stood on shaky legs. "Do you remember his name?"

He'd never forget. It had become the name synonymous with pure evil. "His name is Jack Dobbs."

%%%%%%%%%%%%

The group watched in shock as Rick followed Dylan into the pub. Carol was just placing food on the bar. Rick no longer had a blank look in his eyes. Now, the color in his face had returned and he conveyed a sense of purpose. "I want to leave with you tomorrow morning," he said to Merle and Daryl. "Dylan told me what you were planning and I want in."

Daryl went to Rick. "You're not in the best shape right now Rick. We can handle things. Don't worry 'bout us."

"No," said Rick shaking his head. "I need to do this. For myself and for Carl."

"That doesn't leave Argent with much protection," said Andrea, nervously. "We risk losing four good men if this doesn't go down as planned."

"Five," said Dylan, looking at Ben.

Ben stood up. "What made you change your mind?"

Dylan swallowed hard. "Jack Dobbs."

Ben looked stunned. "Oh my God."

"That son of a bitch is runnin' with them?" asked Merle, his eyes flared with fury.

Dylan nodded. "I should have known."

"Wait," said Daryl. "Who the hell is Jack Dobbs?"

"He killed my father and brother," said Dylan.

"And beat me near to death while another hurt Lori," said Rick.

Daryl looked down at his feet in an attempt to control himself from putting his fist through a wall. He took a deep breath and set his jaw. He went to Andrea and Carol. "Do you see why we have to do this now? I know us leavin' ain't ideal but we gotta take this chance."

Andrea and Carol exchanged glances. "While you were all getting ready today, Carol and I took some precautions. We have several safe places to hide, weapons and enough provisions to last us over a week in hiding. Well give the chickens extra feed and just hope for the best."

"Just come home safe to us," said Carol, her eyes watery. "We're family now."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%

As dawn approached, Rick kissed a sleeping Carl on his head. He left a letter next to his pillow and took one last look at him before he stepped out of the bedroom door. He peeked in at Glenn, who was shivering in his sleep. His face was a splatter of bruises and swollen cheeks and eyes. "It'll be over soon," he whispered to his friend. Glenn had risked his safety in order to allow Rick the chance to live. It was time to return the favor.

As he walked out of the house, Dylan, Ben, Merle and Daryl were outside sharing emotional and heart wrenching goodbyes with Andrea and Carol. The women pleaded with them to be safe and come home soon. They promised and urged the women to exercise the same caution. Rick noted that the men and boys were packed fairly light, choosing to wear only the heavy winter clothes on their backs, along with their weapons. Dylan carried a backpack presumably full of provisions. "What's the plan?" asked Rick.

"First you take this," said Merle, handing him his .357. "I know it don't replace the Python but it's a good gun."

Rick gratefully accepted the gun and placed it in a holster. Daryl then handed him a sharpened hunting knife. "This'll be our weapon of choice for the most part. We all have one. Except for Ben, of course," he said, glancing at the boy, who held both his rifle and bow.

Ben was relieved when he'd heard he wouldn't be on throat cutting duty. It was a little too up close and personal for his taste. If the others were willing to step up to that arduous task, then he'd be eternally grateful to them. Ben knew he had other, more effective ways to make himself useful.

"Where to?" asked Rick.

"Back to the plant where it all happened," said Daryl. "It'll give us the best clues as to where they went."

Rick felt nauseous but swallowed it back. "Okay. We're going back," he said, his voice unsteady.

The five of them walked to the trail leading out of Argent, turning one last time at their home. "I already miss it here," said Dylan quietly.

Daryl put a hand on his shoulder. "You won't miss it for long. I promise."

Andrea and Carol held hands as they watched them walk away from Argent, saying silent prayers that their family would once again be reunited.


	15. Chapter 15

15

** I can't believe this is the second to last chapter! Thank you all so much for your kind words and support of this story. Please tell me what you think. Thanks!

The walk to the treatment plant took longer than normal, as Rick was still not in the best health and they wanted to stay at a pace that wouldn't strain him. Then, at eleven AM, it could be seen in the distance.

Daryl remained at the lead as the group stood in the clearing. The wastewater treatment plant stood before them, the bright winter sun shining upon the red bricks. Dylan joined Daryl at the front of the group. Both were uncertain about leading Rick back into the site of the massacre. Neither could see any bodies in the front or in the parking lot. Dylan turned to Rick. "Where did the attacks occur?"

"Inside," he said quietly.

"Rick, why don't you stay in the front," suggested Dylan. "No sense in going inside. Stay here with Ben for awhile, okay?" he asked, sympathetically.

Daryl hesitantly came over. "Actually Dylan, if Rick could come with us, it would be helpful. You could walk us through whatever you can remember," he said softly. "This is the last thing I want to have you do but I really think it would help greatly."

Rick swallowed. "Okay, um, the first sound I heard was glass breaking. First through the front doors and then at the back in the common room where our sleeping quarters were."

"Okay, let's head there then," said Merle. As they walked he placed a hand on Ben's shoulder. "If it gets to be too much, you let me know," he whispered. Ben nodded and offered a look of apprehension. He knew for a fact that concern, anxiety or even morbid curiosity wasn't strong enough to want to witness what lay ahead for them. It was too gruesome to find fascinating. It only turned his stomach.

The front door had been smashed open so the five entered through the now empty doorframe. Glass cracked and crushed under their heavy boots. Ten feet down the hall marked the beginning of the carnage. Bloody handprints and streaks donned the walls. Once bright red, they had dried into a rusty brown. There were dents that inundated the drywall, most likely from bodies or heads being smashed into those places.

Ben felt his skin become clammy upon catching sight of the first body. Daryl went to the small form, realizing that it was Maggie. Her throat had been cut, but upon closer observation it was clear that she was sexually battered either before or after she'd died. Her fingernails had been ripped off meaning she put up a noble fight. For some reason, the majority of her hair had been sliced off. Dylan knelt down next to Daryl. "Why did they cut off her hair?"

"Trophy," said Daryl, sadly.

"What? You mean they're actually proud that they did this?" asked Dylan.

Daryl nodded. "I've been a hunter for a long time. You get a good kill and you share it. It's your trophy. Your celebration. There's a sense of pride involved. These pricks hunt humans as a rule. So, yeah, bringing back the hair of a pretty young girl would probably get these sick bastards real pumped up."

"How did they all get to be so evil?" asked Dylan. "I mean, yeah, it's the end of the world but since when is raping and killing innocent people the newest sport?"

Merle knelt down next to them. He looked sickened at Maggie's treatment. "People just forget what it's like to be human. To feel for others. They got nothin' to lose so they act accordingly."

"Guys," whispered Ben. He nodded in Rick's direction as the man was making his way into the common room.

Dylan, Merle and Daryl got up quickly and followed Rick into the large, well-lit open room. They all covered their mouths and noses, wishing they were just having a nightmare. Beth lay splayed across the cold tiled floor. She had also been sexually assaulted, strangled, and large chunks of her long blonde hair had been sliced off as well.

Daryl went to Hershel's body, determining that he'd been shot just above his hip and his left knee before being strangled. T-Dog sat against the wall and his head hung forward. The blood splatter behind him indicated that he was shot in the head.

Ben grabbed Merle's forearm, breathing rapidly. "You need to go outside for a minute kid?" he asked, concerned.

He shook his head. "No. Just needed to know you were still right here," he said softly, sweat beading on his forehead.

Merle put his arm around the boy. "We won't let this happen to us. Don't you worry Ben."

"Well," said Dylan, approaching Merle and Ben. "One silver lining is that no walkers ever came, and I'm sure there was enough noise around here to wake the dead."

Merle nodded to Rick, who lay on the floor next to Lori's badly mangled body. "A silver linin' probably don't mean much to Rick, though." They watched him sob on the floor, his body trembling.

Dylan went to Rick's side, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. The man was crying so hard he couldn't catch his breath. He stood up again and walked to Daryl, Merle and Ben. "On our way back, if all goes in our favor, we should bury the bodies."

They all agreed before Daryl went to calm Rick as best as he could. He pulled the man into a seated position and held his shoulders. "Rick, I need you to sit up and talk to me if you can," he said, cringing at Lori's horribly mutilated corpse. "Dylan," he started to say, but before he could get it out, the young man was already covering Lori with a heavy blanket. "Thanks," he said, turning back to Rick.

"We would have buried them," said Rick, through tears. "Glenn and I would have. But we had to leave in such a hurry for fear they'd come back and…" he tried to lay his head on Lori's body but Daryl kept him upright.

"Rick, you said you heard the glass break at the front entrance and the windows to this room. So that means they had been watching you for a while. Other than us, did ya'll have any other visitors to the plant? Anyone who might have wanted to join up with you or settle for the night?" Daryl asked.

Rick's lower lip trembled. "No. Not that I can remember."

"Are you sure?" asked Daryl. "It might have seemed like nothin'. Just think."

Rick got really quiet. He seemed to focus on a white area on the wall, one not marred by blood or breaks in the drywall. "Horse hooves," said Rick as something beginning to stir behind his gaze.

"Like a bunch of riders?" asked Merle.

"No," said Rick, still mentally searching the white spot on the wall. "Like the 'clip clop' sound of only one horse just wandering around, not even trotting. I thought for so long it was a dream from when I brought that horse into Atlanta. I remember the sound of the horse's hooves as we walked slowly through the city that day. I thought it was empty because that's all I could hear that day was 'clip, clop, clip, clop'. I must have thought I'd been dreaming again."

"So maybe a scout on horseback would come at night and check things out. Didn't ya'll have a watch?" asked Daryl. "Andrea and I would take a shift every day when we lived here. What happened?"

"Whoever was on watch could've fallen asleep," said Rick. "It's happened plenty of times before. There were a couple nights that it was just too damn cold and we all slept inside." He looked up at Daryl. "Shit," he said, scolding himself. "They did it on the nights when we had no watch. This is all my fault."

"Don't go scoldin' yourself Grimes," said Merle. "We don't have a watch at night either 'cause we prefer to sleep in the same place. Your camp just wasn't as secure as it could be, that's all. Lots of weak and blind spots."

"I should have listened to you Daryl," said Rick, "You and Andrea begged us all to leave here. I should have listened. You warned me against something like this. You warned me so many times," he said, burying his head in his hands.

"Hey," said Daryl, taking Rick's face in his hands. "Don't go runnin' out of steam on us now. We're so close to findin' them. You got it?" He lifted Rick up to a standing position. "Come on," he said. "You gotta get back to Carl. Let's press on, okay?"

Rick nodded.

The five of them exited the building and began searching the perimeter. "These guys weren't too worried about hiding their tracks," commented Dylan. "They're everywhere."

Daryl agreed. "Right you are, boy. And, if you'll notice there's just as many return tracks as away."

"Then they've been here way more than once," said Dylan.

"Got hoof prints up here!" called Merle, from a nearby hill.

"And human tracks leadin' all the way up to 'em," said Daryl. "What do they all have in common?" he asked Dylan, looking expectantly at the young man.

Dylan considered carefully. "They're all going south, which is where we need to go. They're not far."

"What makes you say that?" asked Ben.

"'Cause they came back here repeatedly after the time their three scouts ambushed me in the woods the day we all met," said Daryl. "And I bet these sick assholes couldn't resist coming back to the scene of the crime, too. I'd say they're real close by."

And so the group headed south, mentally preparing themselves for whatever challenges may lie ahead for them.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

By nightfall, Daryl stopped in his tracks. His superb auditory acuity caught the distinct sounds of men's voices in the distance…lots of men's voices. "Think we're here," he whispered. "Dylan, you come scout ahead with me." He looked at Merle, Rick and Ben. "Ya'll wait here and make like church mice, got it?"

Daryl and Dylan walked silently through the woods, the darkness surrounding them as a protective cloak. "Always use the dark to your advantage," said Daryl. "People are always so afraid of it. But it ain't the dark that people should be afraid of. It's the things hidin' in the dark that's dangerous."

"Well with that logic I have to ask. Why wouldn't we be afraid?" Dylan asked.

Daryl turned and flashed a dangerous smile. "'Cause WE'RE the scary things in the dark now."

Dylan quite enjoyed the sound of that.

They arrived on the outskirts of camp without being noticed. However, it wasn't much of a feat, as most of the large group of men was highly intoxicated. "Obviously still celebratin' their latest plunder," said Daryl, through gritted teeth. "I count twenty-seven," he said, looking at Dylan.

"Me too," said Dylan. "There's the horses," he said, nodding to a small area where six were tied.

The men danced around three large fires and sang and laughed heartily, some even recounting their recent successes at the wastewater treatment plant. Dylan's pulse began to race when one man held up the locks of Beth's hair and described how he ended her life and what he did to her just before her death. Daryl was right. Slitting these guy's throats would be easy.

Dylan's eyes scanned the area for Jack Dobbs. His eyes widened when he caught sight of Arnold Brewer and Mike Pell, two other members of the Murray's camp. They had run away in an act of cowardice after Jack shot Liam and Josh Murray. He hated those two men, but not as much as the trigger man himself.

And then he saw him. Rick's Colt Python was attached to his hip. He was strutting around the camp like a peacock, showing off his new piece. He was all too eager to share how he acquired such a nice weapon. Daryl felt Dylan tense next to him. "That him?" Daryl asked. "The one with Rick's gun?"

"Yeah," Dylan choked.

Daryl watched him for a few moments. "Dylan, listen to me. This is very important. You gotta remember that you're here to protect your family. We're eliminating a threat."

Dylan's eyes closed tightly and he clenched his fists before looking at Daryl. "I don't know if I can keep focused like that. I look at this guy and all I see is red. I not only want to kill him but I want to hurt him. Torture him."

Daryl leaned in closer to him. "Vengeance makes you blind and weak when you're seekin' it. It's all you'll focus on. Don't let your need for it cripple you, because it will."

"How do I stop it from doing that?" Dylan pleaded.

Daryl's crystal blue eyes shone in the darkness. "Merle told me what happened the first day he met you. He told me that you killed someone."

Dylan nodded and looked down. "Yeah. His name was Nicky."

"And did you kill Nicky out of vengeance?" asked Daryl.

"No," said Dylan shaking his head. "I just knew he was going to hurt Ben if I didn't take care of him right away."

Daryl nodded. "Well then there you go. Treat this asshole Dobbs just like Nicky. He stands in the way of our safety. He'll hurt us all if given the chance. He'll hurt Ben. Hell, if a wasp comes flyin' around a baby, the momma kills the wasp to keep it from stingin' her kid. She ain't got no vendetta against the creature. It's just an insect. You treat Dobbs like a dangerous, stinging insect. Kill him quick and don't look back. Otherwise, he'll find that weak spot inside and stick a knife right in it."

Dylan exhaled. "I think I can do that."

"Good," said Daryl, hoping Rick had the resolve to do the same.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

By midnight, most of the men had passed out in their sleeping blankets. With the walker threat being so minimal as of late, they had chosen to avoid even sleeping in tents anymore. Merle and Ben set up on the southernmost tip of camp, close to where the watchman stood, gun at his hip, eyes to the horizon. He stood on a raised structure that appeared like a tall deck or even a wooden stage.

Dylan, Daryl and Rick huddled together on the west side of camp, where the best visual vantage point was to be enjoyed. They had agreed to strike between two and three AM, as Daryl told them it's when humans tend to sleep heaviest.

They passed the time going over the plan that they had discussed on the way to camp, and then chose to remain quiet and simply watch.

A short time after two, Daryl, Dylan and Rick watched Ben and Merle set their plan into motion. Ben climbed a tree just ten yards from the watchman. Perfectly camouflaged from his perch, he raised his bow and carefully set the arrow. Merle hustled under the structure while the man's back was turned. As the watchman spun on his heels, he looked out at the trees, right at Ben. However, the boy was too well hidden to raise any anxiety. Satisfied that the area was clear, he pulled a flask from his jacket and took a long pull. Ben locked on to the flesh of his exposed neck and released his arrow.

Merle quickly hopped up onto the structure and caught the watchman as he fell into his arms, dead. Merle quietly laid the man down and turned to the three waiting on the west side of camp. He unsheathed his knife and raised it in the air, meaning it was time for phase two. He placed the handle of the knife in his mouth as he pulled the arrow from the man's neck and tossed it to Ben, who took the arrow and readied himself.

Each of the four men began at opposite ends of camp. On Merle's silent signal, they began. Daryl pulled back the forehead of the first man and sliced into his neck. The man never even opened his eyes. He moved on to three more men. Merle did the same to six in a row, except he'd use his boot to pull their heads back. Some awoke, quietly choking, unable to scream or call for help.

Dylan watched Rick slice into three men before he took his place along a line of four sleeping next to each other. Dylan's hand was just and inch from the first man's forehead. He reminded himself to breathe and to make the slice just like Daryl had shown him dozens of times in the past two days. He took a deep breath and laid his left hand on the first man's forehead, pulling it towards him, exposing the delicate skin on his neck. With his right hand, he swiftly slashed the exposed skin. The man's eyes opened and a fount of blood poured forth. His mouth opened and closed but no sound emerged. Before he could grab the hand of the man next to him, Dylan rapidly went down the line of four, executing perfect slits each time. He kept a count in his head, as Daryl, Merle and Rick promised to do as well.

Ben noticed a man at the far end of Daryl's line stirring. He sat up and went to scream, but Ben's arrow went straight through his mouth. He landed quietly on his back. Daryl offered a thumbs-up to Ben before reaching down and slashing the throat of his seventh man.

Dylan arrived at Mike Pell's sleeping form. He reminded himself to keep his mind off vengeance and to attend to the matter at hand. He knelt behind Mike, grabbed him by the chin and carved across his neck in a split second. The man opened his eyes and instantly recognized Dylan, despite the fact that the boy appeared upside down to him. His eyes were wide and terrified. He grabbed at Dylan with weak hands. His motions soon ceased.

Dylan saw Rick take care of Arnold Brewer, but he didn't wake up after his injury. Suddenly the sound of a gun being cocked pierced the air. The men turned, seeing a tall man just out of his sleeping bag, pointing a pistol at them. Ben, once again, silenced him before he could alert the rest.

However, there were only two more left.

There was the man who killed Rick's wife, Lori.

And there was Jack Dobbs.

Dylan saw Jack, sprawled out, unconscious. He wondered how the man actually slept at night. After everything he'd done and all the pain he'd caused it was a wonder that he was so immune to the guilt.

Dylan watched Rick begin to lose control upon seeing the other man. He raised his knife and let out a cry before Daryl went to him and placed his hand over his mouth. He was frantically whispering something to Rick that Dylan couldn't hear. Daryl made a signal to Merle as he held Rick back to the best of his ability.

Merle acted quickly, going to the man and slitting his throat with one short slash. Rick sobbed silently against Daryl who held him both out of sympathy as well as necessity.

As this was going on, Dylan walked over to Jack Dobb's resting form. He watched him there, the very last of his murderous gang. Sleeping like a baby would. Dylan looked over at Ben, who was now out of the tree and approaching on his right. He slowly collected his arrows from the fallen men, always keeping his eyes on his older brother.

Dylan slowly lifted the sleeping bag and saw the Python lying there next to Jack. He took it and walked it over to Rick. "I believe this is yours," he whispered. Rick gratefully squeezed the young man's shoulder in thanks.

Dylan walked back over to Jack. His amber eyes blazing, he straddled the man, putting all of his weight upon him. Jack suddenly woke up. He blinked several times, exposing eyes so dark they resembled black licorice. He groggily looked up at Dylan. "Murray?" he asked in a scratchy voice. "What the hell are you doin' here, boy?" He struggled under Dylan's weight and the fact that he was wrapped tightly in his sleeping bag didn't help either. He laughed nervously. "We looked all over for you and your brother! We got ambushed the morning ya'll left on that scout. Only a few of us got away. Your parents and them, they didn't make it. How you doin', boy? Whatcha doin' here?"

Dylan offered a sinister grin to Jack. "Oh I just thought I'd pay you a visit and show you what it's like to be the last of your people. To have them all taken away from you like you've done to so many other families."

"What?" Jack asked.

Still straddling Jack, Dylan took him by his black hair and pulled him into a seated position. "See?" Jack's eyes focused on Merle, Daryl and Rick, all with blood dripping off their knives. Ben was sheathing several bloodied arrows. Jack looked frantically around at his men.

"Oh my God," he said, starting to tremble. "Oh my God. Hey!" he started screaming. "Hey! Wake up! Wake up you stupid drunk bastards! Help! Help me!"

"They can't hear ya dummy," said Merle. "They's all dead."

"But don't worry," said Dylan. "You will be soon, too. I just really wanted to save you for last."

"What? Why? No Dylan, don't, look I had nothing to do with what happened to your father. I swear!" pleaded Jack.

"Shame on you, Jack. It's not nice to lie," said Dylan.

"I'm not godammit I swear I'm not! We were ambushed, okay? These guys just came out of nowhere and blew everyone away. It was so awful! Me and Mike and Arnold looked for you boys. We looked for weeks!"

"That's not what Marie Talbot told me," said Dylan, trying desperately not to let his trembling voice betray his confidence.

"What?" Jack asked, shocked to hear the name.

"Yeah," said Dylan. "I bet you thought she was walker food by the time Ben and I got back from our scout. Well she was still alive. Bitten, but still alive. She told us the whole story. How you shot my father and brother and left my mom and sister to fend for themselves against a walker horde. And, oh, by the way, does this guy with the Colt look familiar?" he asked pointing to Rick. "You beat him to near death just so one of your buddies could rape and kill his pregnant wife. And if you want to go ahead and argue that it wasn't you that did that either, then," he said holding up Jack's right wrist, revealing the eagle tattoo. "This ugly thing is the common denominator." Jack gulped and his lower lip began to tremble. "What's wrong Jack? Is it all coming back to you now?" he asked, slamming the handle of the knife into the top of the man's head. "I think it is. I think you remember just fine what happened. Ben come sit by me."

Ben slowly approached and knelt next to Dylan. He put his hand on his older brother's forearm while Merle, Daryl and Rick watched silently from a few feet away. Dylan pushed Jack back down into a prone position. The man bucked his hips trying to get Dylan off of him but the young man slammed him in the nose with his fist. Fresh blood spilled down his chin. His dark eyes met Dylan's. "You don't understand Dylan. Your father thought he was the boss. He thought he could come in and take over my group."

"That's because he could," spat Dylan. "He was a better man and leader than you were. You were a danger to the group and we all knew it. My father and Josh had the balls to stand up to you and you didn't like that. So you killed them!" He took his left hand and placed it ever so lightly on Jack's neck.

Jack, knowing his arguments didn't hold water, began to let his anger get the best of him. "You think you're so tough don't you Dylan? Always the fighter of the bunch weren't you? Mister Ju Jitsu. Mister so-called Kung fu master. Well you weren't there to fight for your family when they needed you, were you? Huh? Not that it would have mattered 'cause I'd have shot you, too. Maybe even the little guy here. So what are you gonna do anyway? You've been talkin' big for the past few minutes. Think you're such a badass with that knife? Prove it."

Dylan's eyes glittered. He took the knife and tossed it to the side. "I'm not doing anything with the knife," he said calmly.

Daryl went to step forward but Merle stopped him. "He's got a plan," he said softly. "This guy Jack's the last one. Let Dylan have this."

Jack relaxed considerably. "Well, then I'm glad you're thinkin' clearer now boy. I know you looked up to your dad. But your dad wasn't no killer. He wouldn't harm any man. Even out of vengeance."

Dylan thought to what Daryl said earlier, about how vengeance makes a person blind and weak. He thought that perhaps Daryl was only partially correct. Sometimes vengeance could sully a person's mind, their morals and their actions. However Dylan's vengeance came in the form of keeping his brother alive, and creating a happy new life together in Argent. THAT was his vengeance against evil people like Jack Dobbs. Daryl was right about one thing, though. This would be cake.

He remembered the day long ago when he'd told his father he wanted more power. He wanted to strike and have it really mean something…

"You're right Jack. My father wasn't a killer. And who knows? Maybe as your punishment he'd have allowed you to stay alive and suffer with the memories of all the horrible things you've done to people." He looked over at Ben's big grey eyes. Always kind and understanding. Always wise beyond his years. Yes, he'd be around for Ben's twelfth birthday, and every other birthday after that as long as he was on this Earth. "But Jack, someone reminded me of something very important recently."

"Oh yeah? What's that?" asked Jack.

Dylan leaned down and whispered into his ear. "I'm not my father."

Jack barely got out a whimper before Dylan used all of the force he could summon to plunge his fingers into Jack's throat, ripping it out in one violent motion. He sat, straddling the man for a few moments, his breathing rapid and hoarse. Jack twitched and contorted beneath him for only a few seconds before he finally lay still. Ben helped Dylan to stand and they embraced. "It's over," Dylan whispered. Ben nodded against his chest.

Dylan looked up at Daryl and Rick, who gazed at him with a sense of knowing in their eyes. He was grateful for Daryl's plan. They would no longer have to live in fear anymore. Daryl broke the silence. "So, uh, another Rambo the High School Years special, I see. Lemme guess, you never tried that move before either?"

He offered a small smile to Daryl in an effort to look tough. However, his attempt was in vain when he gazed at Merle. He was the man who saved him and Ben and had become like a second father to them. He kept them alive and offered love and support. Dylan didn't know how Liam Murray would react to what he'd seen Dylan do to Jack Dobbs a moment before. But he knew what Merle would do. As he looked at the pure love and understanding in Merle's eyes, he felt all the emotion that he'd managed to keep bottled up inside for months. He went to him and wrapped his arms around him as Merle did the same. He let himself weep against Merle. It didn't matter that he was vulnerable. The point was that he COULD be and that would be just fine. Soon, he felt Ben join him and Merle, hugging them both tight.

"It's all right now boys," Merle said, his voice wavering with emotion. "My boys. It's gonna be all right."


	16. Chapter 16

16

**So I'm probably committing Walking Dead fan sacrilege but I'm giving this one a happy ending, as I think the characters deserve it after all they've been through. Fast forward to eleven years into the future (I figure the outbreak started around spring 2010, and the last chapter ended in February of 2011, so I'm moving with that timeline)…Thank you again to anyone reading and commenting. It was so much fun to write this story and I hope you enjoyed it. Cheers!

February 28, 2022

9AM

Twenty-seven year old Dylan Murray sat on the roof of the pub overlooking the village of Argent. Daily watches were no longer needed since the last of the walkers died off in late 2013 and the subsequent inoculations that followed, but it had become tradition among the founding members of the village to sit up there, just watching the day to day activities of their home.

The village had become home not only for the Murray boys, Andrea, Carol, Glenn, the Dixon brothers and Rick and Carl, but as the walkers died off, people longing for a home began to trickle in. Eventually, the population grew to just over forty people. A lot of this had to do with the fact that, once the walkers died off, the military once again began coming out of the woodwork. The FDA, now a small yet growing entity, managed to make it to many communities with vaccines, including the out of the way places such as Argent. In addition, some of the formerly disbanded organizations such as the Red Cross and FEMA slowly began to filter in, providing supplies.

Radio and electricity were re-established in late 2016. The radio was used mostly as a means to convey emergency information. However, a handful of stations started broadcasting music and even old-fashioned programs featuring half-hour scripted "episodes" for people to enjoy. There had been rumors of telephone availability as far back as 2015, but Argent didn't get its first telephone line until 2018. Television made its debut in late 2020, but it was reserved for public broadcasting and emergency information.

Argent was pretty much self-sustaining. They had their own food sources through both animals and an enormous garden. The only things that the aforementioned organizations provided were medicines, toiletries, batteries and shoes, which were highly appreciated and did not go unused.

Due to Argent's surge in population, a few more homes were built within the village. Each villager, in one way or another, helped in building those homes. They were small, yet sturdy structures, thus reflecting Argent's true nature: diminutive yet resilient.

It wasn't just Argent the village that experienced a series of changes. With the surge in population brought many new relationships. Many of its residents enjoyed transformations and milestones of their own. Carol settled into a home with a man named Gene and his teenaged son Brent. Glenn had twin daughters named Kate and Megan with a young woman named Emily. His girls were now close to seven years old.

Rick and Andrea found love after years of close friendship. They had a daughter that they named Allison, now five. Carl, a robust man of twenty-one years, was quickly becoming a stronger male figure in Argent.

Daryl remained a happy bachelor, always preferring to be on his own. However, he had a sometime companion in a thirty-six year old petite brunette pilot named Kristen, who'd fly her small Cessna into Argent on a quarterly basis to provide supplies from Raleigh. She'd stay for a week at a time and the two would enjoy each other's company in one form or another. However, Kristen would inevitably leave, giving Daryl his sought after freedom once again. It was truly the perfect relationship for the man.

Merle, on the other hand, still pined for a partner. He'd been secretly disappointed by Andrea's pairing with Rick, but he was happy for them nonetheless. He hoped someday that a lovely, single woman might find her way into Argent so he could sweep her off her feet. Although even Merle would admit, at almost sixty, there wouldn't be much sweeping going on.

The Murray boys weren't immune to change either. Ben had grown into a formidable hunter and, along with Daryl, kept the village well fed. He, too, waited for the right girl to find Argent. He enjoyed being a well-liked and strong figure in the village and was excited to someday raise a family.

Dylan found himself to be quite a bit luckier in love. When he was twenty, a beautiful, raven haired woman named Beth moved into Argent with her small daughter, Lily. She had lost her husband as he was protecting her and their daughter from a walker horde when the sickness first began to spread years before. Beth was nine years older than Dylan but that didn't stop their romance from blossoming quickly. Three years later, they had a son they named Liam, after Dylan's father.

Dylan's amber eyes settled on the chicken coop, where Daryl was having somewhat of a standoff with the current rooster. "I don't care if ya pissed, I gotta clean inside. Don't be nippin' at my heels. Go on now ya cranky bastard!" he said, clapping at the argumentative animal. He looked up at Dylan. "Damn cock's bein' a real dick," he said chuckling.

Dylan laughed heartily and stood, stretching his now muscular, six foot-two inch frame. He heard movement from the ladder and turned to see twenty-three year old Ben reach the top and step on. At six feet tall Ben shared his brother's strapping build. Both men continued to keep their heads shaven as a preference.

They watched Daryl from above and giggled uncontrollably as Merle decided to offer some constructive criticism regarding the maintenance of the coop, which had now expanded in size from four chickens and a rooster to twenty-three chickens and a rooster. The old cupola was now just the entrance to the much larger coop. Andrea stood close by to watch the chickens with Allison in her arms.

"Do I look like I need help?" asked Daryl.

"Hell yeah you do! Boy that rooster's gonna get the best of ya," said Merle, leaning on the fence. "You gotta show him who's boss."

"He's a goddamn rooster Merle! He don't even think GOD is his boss!" hollered Daryl.

"Well, what if there was another rooster around?" asked Merle. "Then what would he do?"

"Ain't no other rooster around, Merle," said Daryl.

"Well go get one," said Merle, shrugging.

"Oh just like that? What you want me to do, go to the rooster outlet and they'll just hand one to me?" asked Daryl, exasperated. "You think you can do better than me? Come on in the ring, then. Let's see what you got."

"Shoot, I could do it if I wanted to. I can do anythin' you can do, boy. Even better," he bragged.

"Oh yeah?" Daryl asked, folding his arms across his chest. "Clap."

"Pffft!" said Merle, waving his hand at Daryl. "I'll show ya clappin'. I'll clap ya right upside the head, I tell you what."

"Hey Merle!" called Ben from the roof. "Why don't you go grab a couple of feather dusters, stick them in the back of your jeans and go show that rooster what's up!"

Daryl and Dylan chuckled and Merle turned around, with his ever-mischievous grin. "Well I might just do that, Ben. Hey Blondie," he said to Andrea. "What you think of that idea? Wanna see what a real cock can do?"

Andrea rolled her eyes. "Not in front of my kid, Merle," she said chuckling. Just then Rick and Carl walked up.

"Okay people, I don't need an audience!" said Daryl. "I got enough trouble with this dumbass backseat driver!" he said, gesturing to Merle.

"Relax Daryl," said Rick, giggling. "I just came to see my girls," he said taking Allison into his arms and sharing a loving kiss with Andrea.

"Lucky bastard," said Merle under his breath. Unbeknownst to Merle, a series of unspoken signals was being exchanged among all of the players at the coop and on the pub's roof. He was the only one left in the dark…

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

2PM

"Come on Merle, stop bitching," said Dylan. "Just one drink at the pub. It's your birthday for crying out loud!"

"For Pete's sake boy I don't know why we had to leave my dang house for a drink. I got whiskey there! It's too damn cold out! And I'm missin' my show!" he hollered, puffs of air condensing as they left his mouth and nose. He tugged his cap lower on to his ears and folded his arms as they walked.

"Geez Merle we've had television back for, what, sixteen months and you're already addicted?" asked Dylan, giggling and rolling his eyes. "Besides, it's only public access television anyway. Will you really be that upset if you missed the Sheldon fourth grade spelling bee?"

"Them little bastards can spell!" said Merle. "Hell, that's quality programmin'!"

Dylan stopped at the back of the pub and grinned at Merle. "How about Ben and I have our own spelling bee just for the sake of your entertainment?"

"Ben's comin' too?" asked Merle. "Okay throw in Blondie and Long Dong Dingy and we're on. I bet the Chinaman blows ya'll outta the water."

Dylan cracked up laughing. "I'm sure Glenn will appreciate his latest nickname and your confidence in his spelling abilities. Come on," he said, opening the pub's back entrance.

Merle stepped inside and he fished for the lights. "Hey dummy how's about some illumination, huh? I'm gettin' old ya know."

"Speaking of…" said Dylan, flipping on the lights. Merle looked around the pub and saw every single one of Argent's residents (forty-three at last count) smiling at him.

"Surprise!" they yelled, holding up a sign that said "Happy 60th Merle!"

"Screw me side saddle!" he declared, laughing. "How'd ya'll plan a surprise party in a small village like this one? You know we're all up in each other's business."

"Easy," said Ben, stepping forward. "After my big twenty-third bash last week, we threw you off the scent."

"Yeah," said Daryl. "We figured you'd never suspect another party just a week later."

"Get this man a shot!" said Ben. "And then we're gonna hear his speech!"

Everyone cheered and clapped.

"Speech?" asked Merle. "Oh now come on ya'll, I…"

"Merle, you know you love to hear yourself talk. Don't get bashful now," said Andrea.

"Yeah let's not forget Christmas two years ago. We had to drag you off your soapbox," joked Rick.

"Yeah that's because he was drunk and quotin' frikkin' Shakespeare. Badly," said Daryl, shaking his head and giggling. "To be or not to be…wait, what was my question?"

"Come on Merle!" coaxed Glenn, handing him a shot of whiskey.

"Yeah, come on Merle!" hollered the group. They all clapped and chanted, "Speech, speech, speech!"

"All right, all right," said Merle, patting Glenn on the back and taking the shot from him. He threw it back and everyone clapped. He looked over at Dylan, holding Liam. "I need my partner in crime," he said, motioning for Liam. "Gimme my grandbaby."

Everyone clapped as Liam was handed to Merle. "Hi Poppa!" he said, cheerfully.

"Hi my boy," said Merle, kissing the dark haired boy on the head. "You gonna help me make my speech?"

"Okay!" said Liam clapping his hands. "Everybody quiet, cuz, um, Poppa's gonna talk, okay?" he said. Everyone laughed.

"Well," started Merle. "Twelve years ago, when I came across this little village, I never would have imagined I'd be livin' the life I have now. But if it wasn't for two kids, I…" he broke off for a long moment. He cleared his throat. "Well, ya'll know who the Murray boys are and I've told this story plenty of times. But they became my family and I theirs. And then the rest of ya'll assholes showed up." Everyone laughed as Merle shared a look with Daryl. "I tell ya I really am bad once I get on the soapbox, huh?" He gestured to the picture of William Munroe and his family, now in a frame and still behind the bar. "Ole Bill woulda been real proud knowin' his village is home to some of the best people in the world…Anyway, I'm glad to be here at sixty and hope to be here a hell of a lot longer, too."

"To Merle," said Daryl, raising his glass.

"To Merle!"

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

9PM

Merle, Ben and Dylan sat in the living room having a whiskey and reminiscing about days long past. They laughed heartily, thinking back on how Daryl caught the chickens and the rooster and raised their glasses to those that had died long ago.

Beth came into the living room with Liam in her arms. "Someone has requested that 'the guys' put him to bed tonight," she said smiling. The little boy rubbed his eyes wearily.

"All right little man," said Dylan, standing up and taking Liam from Beth. "You ready?"

"Ready Daddy."

Liam lay between his uncle and his father, while his grandfather sat at the edge of the bed. "Can you sing me the peck song?" he asked them. "The one your daddy and mommy sang to you when you were my age?"

Ben giggled. "A Bushel and a Peck? Sure, bud. Will you sing it with us?" he asked.

"Okay," said Liam, smiling.

_I love you, a bushel and a peck, _

_A bushel and a peck_

_And a hug around the neck_

_A hug around the neck,_

_And a barrel and a heap,_

_A barrel and a heap,_

_And I'm talkin' in my sleep about you,_

_About you,_

'Cause I love you…

Liam smiled as Ben and Dylan kissed his head. "Love you little man," said Dylan.

"Love you Daddy and Uncle. Hey Poppa?"

"Yep?"

"Will you tell me the story about how you lost your hand again?" Liam asked.

Dylan and Ben cracked up laughing and got off the bed. "All yours Merle," said Dylan, smiling and shutting Liam's bedroom door before he and Ben went back into the living room.

Merle lay next to Liam. "You sure you want to hear that story again? You must've heard it a thousand times," said Merle.

"Yeah 'cause it's my favorite," said Liam, giggling.

Merle smiled. "Okay then here goes. You see I was at the zoo one day maybe twenty years ago. Man it was a hot one that day I tell you what. And crowded! I ain't seen so many people in one place besides…"


End file.
